You've got Sir Erik Kethel (Eagle clan: archers/scouts), Sir Harold Volter (Wolf clan: swordsmen), Sir Edward Carst (Caribous clan: swordsmen) from the original chain of command. When everyone sorts themselves out enough to figure out who the newly promoted second-in-commands are, you're introduced to:
(Now) Sir Alec Westwind (Oxen clan: axemen), Sir Larry Hodges (Bear clan: swordsmen), and Sir Richard Sykes (Rabbit clan: pikemen).
That's about it. You've also got two of the priestesses, ALL fifteen of the old fort guards (they were following you), and six vassals, split evenly between the two priestesses.
Once everyone's gathered together, Rez starts speaking:
"I'm glad to see you up and about, Alec. That was one hell of a hit you took, and my fault, too," he coughs, "In any case. We've only got three days food, so I guess the obvious plan is we head north. Communication with the rest of the stormriders will be almost impossible - a half mile at night - so if we head north either we'll find a way to cross the trench, letting us link up with Phil's group, or we'll find some more supply caravans we can salvage food from. Sound like a plan?"
The men all nod, not too eager to be close to ... well, it's liquid, you guess, but doesn't seem to be water. "I'll start scouting immediately," Erik says, bowing, and scurrying off to assemble some of his men.
Rez nods to the departing Eric and looks around the group.
"Get everyone ready to move. I'll be back in a few minutes, I want to check out this river."
Which Rez promptly wanders down to, curiously. There aren't that many naturally occurring liquids that people sink in.
Well, the slopes of the trench are deceptively slippery, but you've got crampons on your boots. You manage to make it to the point where the ... stuff ... has apparently risen, which is about midway up the trench. It sits their, pretty much without any ripples or motion at all. Where the Jotun's blood has seeped down the slope and into the stuff, it branches out wildly and crazy, blue Jotun blood making a kind of sideways tree poking out into this stuff.
Rez walks sideways along the trench slope, trying to find an area with little jotun blood.
Once found, he tries to scoop up a little of the 'water' in his right hand.
Your hand freezes the second it comes into contact with the stuff. You lose all tactile sensation, your hand is stiff, and hoarfrost lines it. Probably not a good move.
There is something you learn from this, though you're not sure it's something that you wanted to know, or something that even makes sense.
The disruptions your hand made in it show that it's not actually a liquid at all. It's a gas. Which means that the entire ice shelf you're on is suspended by islands of rock, and mountains, and whatever's below ... it's some heavier-than-air gas compound that's dark, and very, very, very cold.
"Jesus Christ!"
Rez, mightily impressed and disturbed by this revelation, walks quickly back up the slope towards the camp - priority one, warm that hand up, and priority two - get moving.
There ain't no crossing that mess.
The storm-riders look at you curiously, but don't say anything. It's entirely possible that they know as little about that stuff as you do.
Your men wave a bit at Phil's, but actual communication isn't too feasible, so they ultimately break off and start heading north with the rest of the troop, moving about half a kilometer away from the trench before moving along it.
Rez keeps the group moving north until there's a compelling reason to stop, one of . . .
(A) Some coherent signal or the like from Drac's half of the river,
(B) "Your men need rest, Sir Nathan!"
(C) The scouts bring back news.
Of particular note in Rez's mind is gratitude that they have the priestesses, because it's been a damn long time since he slept . . .
The priestesses aren't even going to bother trying to keep this many soldiers going for too long. Your men need rest after an hour or three.
Nathan wouldn't have expected them to, he was more just grateful he hadn't fallen over from exhaustion yet.
In any event, once they've gotten north and the men need a break, Rez calls a halt to the column, giving orders for the men to try and get some sleep and to get a few men set up on watch.
He sends runners out to the scouts with the same message . . . and unlesss Erik has anything vitally crucial to report, Blue Warriors Needs Sleep Badly.
Everyone who was in the battle is pretty tired, especially those who were healed (apparently it takes some strength to undo that kind of damage). Erik rounds up a few moderately more rested scouts (about two hundred) and sets up a radius to keep watch, and everyone settles in to rest.
In the morning, nothing's happened, and the scouts pile into the wagons to sleep while the rest of the army pushes on further north.
Wonderful. Why the fuck am I in charge? I'm not a goddamn commander, I hate this stuff. Someone up there's got it in for me, alright . . .
Rez quashes his annoyance and . . . keeps walking.
You notice, when you're awake, that the moon has risen.
Rez blinks once . . . then twice . . . and grins widely.
He claps the stormrider walking next to him on the shoulder and points at the moon, then yells calls out loudly to his troops, "Those at the keep have slain the first of the generals! Let us make haste, my brothers - we aren't going to let them have all the fun, are we?"
This does, in fact, do a lot to cheer the men up, and they eagerly prepare to march further north -- though the trench to the east of you doesn't look like it plans on ending any time soon.
Kick their goddamn asses, guys.
Rez continues marching north with, well, his army. They'll either find a damn trench, or if they're lucky find another supply caravan.
The alternative isn't a very pleasant one.
After a few hours of the moon climbing higher in the sky, Eric approaches you, breathless and excited. "Sir Shuker!" he calls. "Good news!"
Rez perks up. "Good news is . . . well, good I guess, Eric," he grins, "What'd you find?"
Erik shakes his head. "Wardmaster Mattias," he says. "The Wardmaster was afraid of Lord Bloom and yourself after Lord Bloom and Markham came to blows. He then entrusted me with this," he explains, pulling a small, flat, oval-shaped stone from a belt pouch. It looks like it's nearly the perfect skipping stone. It's carved with some sort of shape on it, which you imagine is a rune of some sort ... it looks confusing, at least.
"It's a speaking stone," he adds. "Wardmaster Mattias says that he and those with him have safely reached the false pass, as planned. He plans on freeing Gatemaster Eske, though says that it may take him a while. Once this is done, and Gatemaster Eske is recovered, we should be able to enter the keep.
"The only news I can offer of other supplies is that our scouts ran down a small number of orcs -- a dozen of them -- and an additional wagon. It appears that the rest of their train fell...." He hesitates here, and looks very uncomfortable. "Beneath the ice."
Rez gives Erik a respectful nod.
"Understandable, I guess. Thank you for trusting me enough to reveal it now. Hm . . ."
"This is good and bad . . . good because it means we've utterly massacred the dreadmarch supply lines, and bad because it means that finding food is going to be a problem. Hopefully Eske won't be more than a few days. For now, we have to keep moving north. There'll be more caravans as we go, and not all of them have been moving through the trench thus far. The dreadmarch will have no hope of catching us from the south, so we're untroubled on that score. Let's keep moving."
Erik looks at the stone. "You can speak with Mattias through this, if you'd like," says. "Otherwise, I will continue scouting."
Rez blinks.
"Handy. In that case, could you wait a couple of minutes while I do so?"
"Certianly," he says amiably, offering you the stone.
Rez takes it and turns it over in his hands.
"So, er . . . how do you use it?"
"Like that," Mattias's voice replies from the stone. "Sir Shuker?"
"Ahh. I am he, Wardmaster. How goes your work in freeing Eske?"
"I cannot break the seal binding him, so it goes slowly. I expect to have him free before the moon rises, though. I've also found out about the seal ... it was placed by another master of the lore ... but the collegate has not promoted another Lorkeeper to mastery of wards in centuries. I fear that the Dreadmarch may have devised some way to empower their own servants.
"I tell you this in case the worst happens, because fore-warned is fore-armed. I hope that it is not the case ... but Radagast sends me word that the Dreadmarch has succored allies aside from the few humans who are seduced by the promises of wealth and glory."
"That is unpleasant news. They've certainly been better prepared than we expected - but what other allies does Radagast believe they have?"
"I am reluctant to say too much over this channel," Mattias says slowly. "Unless I am mistaken, someone with the power and skill to create the seal ... the ward ... that they have could also listen in. As it is, I've already made a calculated risk by revealing our location and the fact that we've no soldiers to defend us. Given that Eske is locked away a good twelve hours before I can free him...." He trails off there.
"I understand. Will you have a problem finding us when you're done?"
"No, I've been using this conversation to hone in on your location," he says. "That way, when Eske is freed, I can--"
His words cut off then. "No help will be coming to you," a new voice answers, before the stone turns black, and breaks in your hands, crumbling to dust.
Erik blinks at this. "What happened?" he asks.
Rez swears loudly, then looks up at Erik, "Someone cut Mattias off, then the stone broke. Gather our commanders and the priestesses and we'll brief everyone on the situation."
The march is brought to a halt, and someone erects a largish tent from one of the supply wagons. You meet your commanders in this tent, and Erik introduces you to them in turn.
All of the Storm-riders are men with long hair, and all of them have beards. The captain of the guard for the fort-guards is not clean-shaven, but has stubble (it looks like it's been a week or so since he's been able to shave last). The priestesses are wearing red robes with the hoods pulled up. Both have dark hair. Only two of their vassals (one each) are allowed into the tent, since it would otherwise become crowded.
Eric introduces you to the officers in turn:
Alec Westwind is a young man, sitting crosslegged on the floor, occasionally rubbing his chestplate (it's still dented from the Jotun blow), and shifting about restlessly, like he doesn't enjoy sitting in place for too long. "This is Sir Alec Westwind, of the oxen clan." Alec pops to his feet and bows for you before sitting back down, still full of nervous energy.
"Sir Harold Volter you remember from working with Lord Bloom," Eric adds, indicating the young, but grim looking swordsman, who rises smoothly, bows to you wordlessly, and then settles himself on the floor again. "He's of the wolf clan."
"This is Sir Larry Hodges," he continues, indicating a grumpy looking bear of a man. Looks to be in his middle years, the slightest of graying showing at his temples. "Of the bear clan." He nods his head to you, but does not rise.
"Sir Edward Carst," he goes on, indicating the brown-haired man you remember working with Phil. "Of the caribou clan."
This man does rise, and bows deeply. "I apologize for my clansmen's actions," he says quietly, not meeting your eyes, and returning to his position on the floor.
Erik raises his eyebrows, but says nothing of that, instead pointing to a young man with blond hair whose eyes are half-closed, and has his arms crossed over his chest. "Sir Richard Sykes, of the rabbit clan." His eyes opening slowly, Richard rises, bows, and reseats himself smoothly.
"I myself, you remember, am the respresentative for our clan," he adds, before turning to indicate the priestesses. "This is ... Melissa, and Henrietta, priestesses of Liena," he continues. The women curtsy to you in their robes, and sit outside the circle of officers. Erik joins them, and there's a space for you to sit, too.
The vassals, unammed, stand unobtrusively behind their priestesses.
"Their actions were their own, Sir Edward, not yours, and I hold you no ill will for them. I prefer to judge people on their own merits," Rez gives the man a respectful nod, then sits down.
"Alright then. Sir Erik was given a speaking stone by Wardmaster Mattias before the Wardmaster went south with Sir Farwell's group. He came to me a short while ago bearing tidings from Mattias, and offered me the stone to speak with him myself. Apparently the group reached the valley safely and Mattias has set to attempting to free Eske, but we spoke for very little time before our conversation was . . . interrupted. Someone cut Mattias off and destroyed the stone."
Nathan looks around the circle and brushes his hair back in a habitual gesture.
"The Wardmaster told me that he suspected that someone was listening in to the conversation, and told some lies for our unknown listener's benefit - that they had no soldiers to defend themselves, for instance."
"Mattias further told me that the seal on Eske was placed by another master of the Wards - except there isn't another Wardmaster, at least not one trained by the collegiate. The Dreadmarch, to my knowledge, should not have had someone capable of interrupting our conversation either. Moreover, Mattias said that the Dreadmarch has other allies than the occasional treacherous human . . . and that, more than anything, bodes ill."
"In any case, Mattias told me that he believed he could free Eske in 12 hours - I am unsure if he was lying for our listener, but if he was, I believe it will be that Eske can be freed faster. He also told me that he was able to trace our location through this conversation. So the question is this . . ."
"I believe that Mattias will be able to free Eske in the near future. Do we stay where we know Eske will be able to find us - albeit also where our impolite Dreadmarch lorekeeper could find us - or do we press on and hope that this trench comes to an end very soon?"
"I, personally, am loathe to sit idle . . . but at worst, we lose a half-day hours of marching time, and I don't like the possibility that the dreadmarch could somehow set up an ambush for Eske and Mattias should we leave where they expect us."
"Now that you all know the situation, I'd like all your thoughts. I gathered you here for input, so tell me all what you think."
Sir Edward smiles at you gratefully, and then settles back to listen to the speech.
"A trap," Sir Richard says slowly, thoughtfully. "We've got a chance to set up a trap. If they're coming for us, you won't get a better scout in all the snows than Sir Kethel. I don't want to risk any lives we don't have to ... but our clan has techniques whereby we can conceal ourselves in the snow in a great perimeter, and make a defensive line."
"Two things come to mind," Sir Edward adds. "They may not yet know that we were split from the main force. And if so, then they won't know our number -- they may believe us to be more numerous than we truly are."
"A good point," Sir Harold Volter agrees, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But at the same time, I doubt that they could send any sizable number of people against us in the time they have. Not unless they send someone from the north. Walking into a force that would have to be larger than our full compliment, with only half of our intended strength, would be suicide."
They fall silent at this point, letting you consider this before continuing.
"I don't know how much they could have in the area, really - but it's an important possibility. They know exactly where we are, now, though, so if they do come for us, an ambush is limited in what we can do. What exactly did you tell Mattias, Sir Erik? We have to assume they heard that conversation, too.""
"He didn't contact me until he'd reached the valley," Erik says thoughtfully. "Most likely, he didn't want to expose himself to being traced until he was already in a defensible position. All we discussed was that he was there, and there'd been no trouble getting there. No encounters with the Dreadmarch, at least."
"I am concerned about the possibility of leaving the area, only to have such a capable ally left to the Dreadmarch when it's looking for us," Sir Larry Hodges opines gruffly. "But I also see that it's not good for us to sit idly by and be attacked."
"With time, we could set traps in the snow," Sir Richard says. "We'd lose the wagons, but we could make soft-snow. The canvas cloth on them is thin, and tears easily. Simply dig a pit, line it with wooden spikes, throw a cloth over it, and then dust new snow atop that. If we had more time, and less people at risk, I'd suggest trying to cut through the ice to drop the foe into the abyss. But pits we can make, and quickly."
"We could cut the wagons into spikes easily enough, but then we'd be completely committed," Alec warns. "If we did so, could we have pits with our men hidden in them, to pop up and attack them with no warning?"
"We know how to do that," Richard agrees.
Nathan drums his fingers on his knee, frowning.
"Alright. They know where we are, they know where Mattias is, and they know what he's doing. They almost certainly know that we've been hitting their supply trains. This chasm is showing no signs of ending anytime soon - I also suspect that any sizable force, or supply train, in the area would have been in the trench when everything went to hell. I am certain that Farwell can hold that pass long enough for Mattias to free Eske, and I don't believe Mattias would have risked this is he thought that the dreadmarch could stop him."
"We entrench ourselves, then. If the dreadmarch finds us right here, they'll expect an ambush, but that will in turn make them more careful - the more time we have, the better. And hell," Rez grins wryly, "if they come, they'll have to bring food with them, after all."
"I like that!" Sir Alex exclaims. "Cut them down, and steal their food! Hah!"
The other commanders agree, nodding. "If you'll excuse me," Sir Roger says, bowing. "I've pits to construct."
"And I've wagons to turn into traps," Alec says, grinning. The two rise, bow, and set to leave.
Rez grins after them, then pulls out his map.
"Sir Erik, you'll obviously need to scout north - but they honestly could come from anywhere, if they do come. I want none roaming far after the moon sets, though - and we need to work out somewhere to pick them up if any of them do miss a ticket on the Gatemaster express."
Rez looks up at the vassals.
"I know you're not entirely familiar with our ways, but I also know that you're skilled in tactics - if you have any useful input as to trap setting, ambush locations, anything you think can be useful, we'd be glad to hear it."
"The vassals of Hamar are tacticians," one of them says, shaking his head. "We're combat medics."
"And that, as they say, will teach me to assume things," Rez grins sheepishly.
"In any case," Rez looks around the remaining people, "is there anything else that we've overlooked?"
"We seem to be set in what we're going to do," Hodges says, climbing to his feet. "Best let the men who aren't part of the preparations rest, so they can be ready when it happens."
"Definitely. Spread the word, then, Sir Hodges," Rez turns back to the map, "Now, Sir Erik, about a rendezvous point . . ."
Once Erik has picked a point on the map he thinks is appropriate for said purpose, I'll dismiss everyone to either get bcak to their preparations or rest.
Erik designates the exact spot where the stone broke as the rendezvous point, and then everyone scatters to prepare.
Nathan allows them to do so - and if there's nothing particularly pressing that he needs to do, he goes to practice some with his sword.
A little less of the hacking and slashing, and a lot more of the dodging, diving and rolling maneuvers that the recent jotun slaying required.
They are, after all, useful things to know.
Some of the other men practice, too, a few nearby. Most of them are busy either setting up the traps, or catching up on their rest. But the moon is up, and that makes it a good time to practice.
Not much seems to happen -- at least, Erik doesn't tell you his scouts have sighted anything. Someone comes around and mentions to you that you should eat, but then goes on to attend some chore of his own.
Rez goes to get a snack, and, well, gets back to it.
There ain't that much else to do, really . . . and it helps to keep his mind from worrying whether he's made the right call or not.
Your scouts don't report any sightings of the Dreadmarch, and the moon's been rising for a while.
Rez passes around orders to make sure that everyone stays well rested and ready . . . and in the interests of something to do, walks around the camp to see how the preparations are going, and how the men seem to feel about what's happening.
Erik runs up to you while you're about to begin your patrol. "There's something in the air at the meeting point," he says. "I think it's the Gatemaster!"
"You couldn't see?" Rez breaks into a jog towards the meeting point, "It should be, but we can't be sure it isn't a dreadmarch trick until we see him. Be careful."
When you get there, there's a contingent of pikemen and axemen surrounding two fairly confused looking robed men. Mattias you recognize. The newcomer is wearing a pale green robe, and leaning on a gnarled staff for support; he looks like he's seen better days. Between them is a vertical line, like someone carved a thin, jagged line through two places in reality, and then folded them along some dimension you couldn't percieve to touch the tears together. It hurts your eyes to look at.
"Ah," Mattias says, recognizing both you and Erik. "Is ... is this all that survives out here?"
"No - our forces got split in half. Lord Bloom is situated roughly a day's march to the south, and on the other side of this trench. I can show you on a map."
Rez gives a short, but respectful, bow. "Wardmaster, Gatemaster. It's good to see you both again. I'm sorry for the reception, but we didn't know what sort of lore the dreadmarch may have . . ." he trails off, "Did the dreadmarch come for you where you were?"
"They will soon," Mattias says. "We've made sure of that. My wards will turn the valley into a sea of fire when they enter it, but we've a few hours before that."
Eske shakes his head as though to clear it. "We'll need to move your refugees, first. Can we bring them here? Is it safe? Once that's done, show me your map, and I can rejoin you with the rest of your forces."
"Excellent. Here should be safe for a time, we've been entrenching, but we thought that if the dreadmarch knew where you were, they may also know where we were. Would it be easier to take them to the keep first, then return for us?"
"The keep is covered by the seal," Eske says, gesturing to the line in the air. It tears (and if you watch, you think your mind is tearing, too), and widens into a doorway fifteen meters square. You can see a good number of storm-riders peering through from the other side (it must be the valley) curiously. All of their wagons are packed up and ready to move. "I could bring us within reach of the keep, but the truth of the matter is, we'd be easy pickings for the Dreadmarch before we got through. My personal thought is that there is strength in numbers, however, so any allies we can gather are more than welcome."
Assuming you let them, the Storm-rider refugees begin to march through the portal.
"Alright them. Bring them through, and we'll rejoin Phil's forces and I can drop this 'command' thing back on him."
Farwell is one of the earlier people through the portal, and he makes a beeline for you. "Friend! How fares my cousin? Where is he?" He looks worried, and is trailed by a quiet man wearing the caribou torc.
"We ambushed a supply train and our forces got split, He has the other half of the stormriders, and a good defendable position - not to mention enough supplies to last a season. If the dreadmarch have marched north, he will still be there when we reach him - and now that the gatemaster is here, we can be certain we will."
"Then let's waste no time," he decides. "Once Eske is ready and deems it safe, we'll rejoin him. We've healers and supplies. I'm sure he's food enough for a feast, but healing is likely always welcome."
Eske nods. "This far from the seal, my power works as it should," he says. "This will be no trouble."
"Then let's get it done," Nathan turns to Erik, "Spread the order for the men to get ready to move."
He nods.
"Almost a pity to waste these pit traps. Maybe we'll eventualy catch a scout or two."
Farwell smirks, and nods. It takes about twenty minutes to get everyone through the portal, then Eske closes it, catches his breath, and opens a new portal. By now, the men are ready to move again, and camp's been mobilized.
When Eske opens the portal, however, he ends up slightly south of the mountain range, and you can see a pretty sizable force of the Dreadmarch headed towards the position you last saw Phil at.
Rez blinks.
"Well, well. They're going to run head on into a well prepared defensive position with about twelve thousand stormriders. That'd be bad enough if they didn't have the other half of us just in the right place to charge up their rear."
Rez grins, "Let's get the men through, shall we?"
"I hear you!" Farwell enthuses, barking orders to the handpicked men who'd been following him for a while. In short order (with Eske widening the portal) you've got the entirety of your forces rushing at the Dreadmarch. You reach them just as the central mass of their army reaches the foothills.
This thread now merges once more with World Revolution (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=34943#34943).