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At the talk of allies, Thorgrim weighs in. "You need not fear for brothers in arms, Anar and Hobwise. Beorn has called the muster, and many of my folk have answered. I'll not say we are slow to anger, but we do not enjoy the call of the bugle nor the roar of the sergeants forming us into straight-edged ranks. But for a threat both near and looming, we shall make an assemblage as proud as any company of Aquilonia Gondor!
I for one do not plan on giving this Valter too much weight. His kind are much alike--wanting the easy prey and making others bleed for it. So he has grown too big to be sated on green barley and fat merchants, what of it? At the first glean of broadswords when he sees that we are not easy meat he will send his guard to their deaths to gain himself precious seconds to escape.
I've not yet met the leuitenant put in charge of our noble host, but so long as he no mewling kitten or green-eared fool, I look forward to a wild red blood-letting."
Thorgrim looks about for something more substantial, again wishing for a fat, steaming plate of meaty viands.
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Hobwise feels inspired by Thorgrim's brave words. Not only does he speak bravely, but with calm confidence. Surely, no army Valter can muster is a match for this force of skilled warriors.
"Though I have never released an arrow in anger, I would be proud to stand with you in this just and good fight."
Cereidh glances at Oderic, wary of his response to Amalina. "Bravery and honor - necessary in this moment, maybe, but I don't think that things are so dire we should trample the ground that might sometime grow them out of impatience; and things have changed much since we were initially sent on this errand." Speaking to everyone and no one. "Maybe finding his true mettle is a bit less important now, relatively speaking? And callow youth as he insists on being - you all are very young."
Jaunter eyed Cereidh, respect and agreement writ on his face.
”Aye, we of the race of Men are all as youths to the Firstborn, yet there is wisdom there we should heed. In that youth, there is the chance to change, to grow. My counsel would be to nourish what we may, while we may.”
Hobwise finds himself lost in the circular banter and loses interest. He shares Thorgrim's mild agitation over the lack of proper meats, and depsite three plates of breads and porridge he is not satisfied.
He attempts to slip away unnoticed, which should be easy since the larger peoples seem to be fully engaged in a battle of wits to see whose plan will prevail.
He is clumsy leaving the table, but no-one seems to pay much attention anyway. Using his well-trained nose, he very quickly finds the local butcher, already well-into the morning processing, with several deer hoisted up in various stages of dress. Hobwise hands over his last silver penny for two pounds of cured venison, and just as quickly returns to the hall, where the conversation has progressed no further.
Under the table, he carves off a quarter of the venison hunk and hands it to Thorgrim.
Jaunter notices Hobwise leave the table, but says nothing. He trusts that his newfound ally will return shortly, and in a few minutes, his faith is rewarded.
Cereidh sees Hobwise's departure perfectly clearly, but brings her mug again to her lips to hide her knowing expression; somewhat sympathetic to his desire to leave the tangled debate.
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Thorgrim takes little notice of the halfling leaving, so engrossed is he in his own guzzling of some honey-hearted wine.
However, once Hobwise returns and offers him meat, he pauses in his un-enthusiastic contemplation of more porridge and his stone face splits in a grin. He chuckles. "Hoo-ho, little one," his deep voice rumbles out. "I had not thought of procurring provisions of another sort, but, aye, you have the right of it.
But soft, were we found eating food of the hearty sort under this roof, there would..an unease. Come follow, and will show you a crowd more appreciative of a savory haunch."
Thorgrim leads the way out of the house and down the road apace. Providing the halfling and his venison follow, they are soon engulfed by a patchwork and thrown-together armed camp.
"Flags from many clans have gathered, and we have not the large structures of the more 'civilized' states to house them, so by need a spear-calling creates a city made of tents, where the war-fighters will camp but temporarily until enough swords answer the call and rouse joyfully to a call to march!"
Throgrim is quickly recognized by a nearby company of young warriors, actively engaged in swapping grossly-embelished stories over clay jugs of fermented beverages swapped around a warm fire.
"Heyo, Thorgrim! Have you come to finally learn to wield a spear?" a brash man with a full beard calls out as the pair grow close.
"Nay, Macha, I already know how to use a spear. Or at least that's what your mother said!" The ribald joke is met by a chorus of chortles, and even the targeted Macha is the first to grip Thorgrim's wrist in a warrior's handshake.
"And what have you here?" says a young man in half-leather armor, gesturing at the hobbit.
"This is Master Hobwise, Morrigan, our spy from Valter's camp who personally lead twenty of the bandit's best horsemen to their deaths."
The gathered warriors all make an appreciative sound of honor at meeting the hobbit they have heard so many gloriful stories about, including his harrowing escape from the bandit camp they will soon attack. Thorgrim gives Hobwise a quick wink.
"So too, he has heard that if your spines will be as stiff as his own, you shall need some meat to stiffen them. So, if we would but use thy spit?"
Only now does the crowd glimpse Hornblower's venison, and they all make appreciative noises only one step below a cheer.
"Oh, aye, aye," states a smiling Magda. "The IronHands made it hear afore us and claimed most of the best viands. We've had naught save conies for two days and would give much a taste of something more substantial!"
The iron spit is quickly made ready for a proper roasting of the venison--a meat that can be terribly tough if eaten raw--and by the time it is consumed, together with more jugs of potent drink, the warriors all call Hobwise a Brother of STEEL and many beat his back in appreciation. Some few even contribute what they can, and Hobwise finds a dozen copper coins in his fist when all is done.
After some time the pair re-enter the home, singing some bawdy shanty about a tavern owner's daughter, and only the hobbit is anywhere close to the right pitch.
The hour spent with Thorgrim and the Beornings further invigorates Hobwise, and readies his peaceful soul for the battles ahead. These men, and this company which includes every major race of Middle-Earth, has done more than rescue him from Valter's camp; they have restored his faith that Good is still strong, and where many good people come together, Evil cannot trespass. The hobbit feels truly safe here, and he is as relaxed around Thorgrim's folk as he would be in the festival hall of his winery back in the Shire.
The next morning, you find yourselves surrounded by a Beorning army who answered the call of Beorn striking camp. Thorgrim circulates among many friends, rivals and acquaintances ready to bloodlet. Organized by Beorn's lieutenant, you march in a gaggle toward the Old Ford.
By noon of the second day, you cross the Old Ford to find Valter's bandit army waiting for you. You are not the commanders of the Beorning
forces in the battle; however, you fight on the front lines. Oderic asks for a sword to defend his people.
The seven of you (Amalina, Anar, Cereidh, Hobwise, Findegil, Jaunter, and Thorgrim) face 14 grim-faced men, veterans of many battles. Seven ready short-bows, while seven appear ready to charge.
Having left the debate and table, Amalina spends the rest of the evening wandering past the tents and camps that have sprouted up like mushrooms following a spring rain. Between Winter's fierce form and her own gleaming axe blades, she is able to easily fend off the various catcalls and offers of company for the evening.
She watches and listens from a distance as Thorgrim and the hobbit, Hobwise she remembers, join a large group and begin roasting a haunch of venison. The hobbit could cook, that was certain. But something worried her about the halfling. His uncanny stamina on the march back to Beorn's followed by his rough look earlier today left her wondering about the hobbit's health. Although he appeared fine now, carousing with the warriors, so perhaps it was nothing.
Continuing her wandering, she ends up back out on the meadows, looking up at the stars and warmed by Winter curled up at her side. Preferring the solitude she ends up falling asleep on the soft mat of grass, under the wide open sky. Waking early to the coming dawn and birdsong in the meadows. A bit sore from the cold ground, the walk back to Beorn's loosens her joints and muscles and she is ready to march out with the others.
Much to her expectations, there is little strategy or tactics involved once they meet Valter and his rabble. Simply one power trying to overcome another through sheer, brute force. So typical, she thinks to herself. Well she had agreed to put Valter down, so she would do her part. She knew all too well how men like that could become breeding grounds for the Shadow and turn good people toward the darkness. Perhaps this time they could stop it before it spread too far across the land.
As the sides come together, she pats Winter and orders the hound to stay by her side as she knocks an arrow, draws and lets fly at the nearest bandit.
Cereidh herself spends the evening before the battle on the outskirts of camp, drawing what silence hasn't been chased away by the Beornings about herself like a thick cloak. Perhaps she finds herself wandering alongside Amalina, whose company she would welcome without the need for talk, but she fades away like the morning dew while night still fosters it.
She reappears, grim and a little fey, in time to be herded towards battle by Beorn's lieutenant.
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As the day dawns bright and fierce, Thorgrim spends some more time around the warrior fires, sharing rowdy jokes and words of encouragement for the upcoming battle.
As the toes his places on the battleline, he does not spare breath for exclamations of deeds to come or belittlement of the enemy. Time enough for that when they start winning.
As his companions let fly with barbed fletches, he takes some few steps forward and draws a defensive stance, ready to take the sting out of the enemy's charge and make the way safe for the softer folk behind him.
Hobwise gets another full night's rest on the eve of battle, and by morning, after another warm meal he feels restored to his full vigor.
In the evening after the first day of the southward march along the Anduin, he again looks for Reedmace along the shores in any grassy thickets, to bolster his supply of healing salve ahead of battle.
He appreciates the easieness of his relationship with Thorgrim, and the massive warrior continues to provide a source of confidence that the next day will be won.
On the fateful day, Hobwise steels himself, fully prepared to strike down any of the evil men whose filthy mouths he filled day after exhausting, endless day over the long winter. Valter would pay for all the misery he had wrought with his life.
Jaunter spends the night before the battle speaking with Oderic, attempting to make sure the lad is in the right mindset. He can win much honor back for himself, but Jaunter does not wish to see Oderic foolishly spend his life. Caution, a steady hand and a clear head are how to win the day.
Jaunter spends the night before the battle tending to his gear, ensuring that his weapons and armour are ready for the dark work of the day to come. It gives him little joy, wielding his armaments against other Men, but he knows that it is necessary. At night, alone, he looks to the sky and turns to the West, and his thoughts drift through time, wondering how his people came from such might to a such a place as this... wondering if the powers that rest in the West yet have a purpose for them.
Come the morning, Jaunter puts all such thoughts aside. It is time for battle, and focus, and survival. He will not meet his end in such a place as this.
As the battle is joined, Jaunter advances aside Thorgrim, keeping pace with the doughty warrior. As he does, he takes aim with his Great Bow, calmly walking and firing as they march forward. He selects as his target the same one that Amalina fired at, and as battle is joined, he calls out to his allies.
"Wake, now, to battle! To arms! To stand against this foe of the Free Folk! Let us show him that there is yet strength in us, that against the Free Folk united, no petty band of Outlaws can hope to triumph!"
Findegil steps to near Thorgrim, his shield resplendent and his sword held firmly.
He calls across, his tone pure defiance.
"Come, vagabounds and honourless dogs! Come and meet the steel of the Free Folk of the North!"
Amalina hits an archer. Cereidh hits the same archer and drops him
Hobwise hides and fires at a second archer. Then, Jaunter drops the second archer.
The archers returns fire into the company. Two Eastern shafts bury into Anar while paying attention.
And the warriors charge. Three engage Thorgrim. Two engage Findegil. And two engage Anar.
Total Damage=26
Now that the distance has closed, Jaunter, in one fluid motion, showed his bow and brought to bear his shield and broad sword. As his allies were swarmed by foes, Jaunter saw an opening at the flank of one of the foes engaged with Thorgrim, and his voice rang forth, clear and true, uttering a battle cry in the Elven tongue;
”Si ath thûr! Maetho!”
At that, he came forward, point of his blade streaking forth in a blindly quick thrust.
As he began his deadly dance, Jaunter kept an eye on the battle, ever watchful for a hint of Valter, that his company might in earnest face down the would-be bandit king.
"Beorning, leave some for the rest of us!" Cereidh calls to Thorgrim, although as Jaunter engages with his excess of foes she takes aim instead at one of the bandits engaging Findegil.
Amalina concentrates her fire on the archers, sending a shaft flying toward the bowman at the end of the bandit line. Unfortunately the arrow gets deflected by a shield as it passes through the line and lands harmlessly among the combatants feet.
The woodswoman then whistles softly and with a low growl, Winter joins the fray, circling low and grabbing at the heals of the bandits surrounding Thorgrim.
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"YES!" Throrgrim ROARS as three of the enemies surround him. "Yes! I see that your COWERING LORD has at least three men amidst his den of women beaters and sons of a thousand fathers.
You should look forward to glorious combat with a favored son of Beorn!
And I...shall look back upon it."
As if on cue an arrow shot by the hobbit SLAMS into one of the foemen while the grizzled wolf runs in to the combat.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!" Thorgrim of the Red Shield roars as his vision clouds and he allows the red, red bloodlust to consume him, Noctiside flailing wildly as if tossed by an angry storm.
Thorgrim gives in to the BERSERKER RAGE and continues his attack when other men might falter, or at least take breath.
= 12
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"Fine work, Beorn-man!", Findegil shouts approvingly, as he strikes at the foes in front of him!
Findegil's presence is enough to shake one of the bandit scum, just long enough for Thorgrim's arms to find their mark!
Hobwise fails to hide and fires at a warrior fighting Thorgrim. Then, Jaunter steps up and drops the wounded warrior.
Cereidh hits a warrior fighting Findegil. Findegil hits the wounded warrior.
Thorgrim slashes at another warrior twice.
Amalina misses an archer.
The archers returns fire into the company. Eastern shafts bury into Findegil, Anar, Hobwise and Cereidh.
Two warriors engage Thorgrim striking him twice. Two engage Findegil; one hacks into his neck. And two engage Anar; another warrior criticals him.
Forgot Anar to attack.
Jaunter shouts out to his companions, continuing to move as he does so.
”Thorgrim and I will handle these! Archers, assist Findegil! Forward!”
As he spoke, Jaunter seized the initiative, slashing at the foe that Thorgrim had injured in an attempt to finish off the outlaw.
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Total Damage = 33!
Hobwise' previous shot found a gap in the enemy's armor, entering from the side below the man's armpit, piercing his black heart as he was about to swing on Thorgrim.
Hearing Jaunter's command, Hobwise knocks another arrow and targets the fresh foe engaged against Findegil. This shot flies truer than the last, impaling the shadow-born warrior though his neck, tearing through his windpipe to drown in his own blood.
Unlike his friend, the mighty Beorning warrior, Hobwise takes no pleasure in the massacre of these men, and as a second arrow point finds his own flesh he is doubly reminded of the horrors of warfare.
Cereidh levels her bow at one of the warriors engaging Findegil.
Amalina again fires at the bandit bowman at the end of the line and this time the barbed shaft strikes true.
Winter continues to engage with the warriors, shifting his focus to one of the men attacking the Knight of Gondor.
Jaunter seized the initiative, slashing at the foe that Thorgrim had injured finishing off the outlaw.
Hobwise fails to hide again and fires at a warrior fighting Findegil. Then, Jaunter steps up and drops the wounded warrior. This shot flies truer than the last, impaling the shadow-born warrior though his neck, tearing through his windpipe to drown in his own blood.
Cereidh drops the wounded warrior fighting Findegil.
With both of Findegil's opponents down, Amalina and Winter assist the severely wounded dwarf with his two bandits.
Thorgrim slashes his third opponent.
Findegil moves to help Anar but cannot get passed his shield. Neither can Anar.
The archers continue to fire into the company. Eastern shafts bury into Jaunter, Findegil, Amalina and Cereidh.
(Amalina, Anar, Cereidh, Hobwise, Findegil, Jaunter, and Thorgrim)
One warrior 6 engages Thorgrim critically striking him. Warrior 4 engages Anar, and warrior 7 engages Findegil.
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Jaunter grunted when the arrow struck him, but it was merely a glancing shot, not enough to truly injure the ranger.
Jaunter sees the danger that Anar is in, and in a surge of motion, closes the distance, moving to assist the beleaguered Dwarf.
”Get thee back! You face Jaunter, now, and thy lives are forfeit if you press forward! Face me, and face doom!”
His sudden assault and declaration is designed to call the attention from Anar’s foes to himself. As he closes the distance he slips forward and hacks at one of his foe’s legs, trying to put him off balance.
Total Damage = 13
Hobwise again ducks around Cereidh, this time more confident in his obfuscation vs the enemy. Confident in the prowess of the others to help finish the foes engaging Anar and Findegil, he lets loose another arrow, this time targeting the last wounded warrior attacking Thorgrim.
Cereidh also draws on Anar's remaining foe, curious of her arrow will outspeed Jaunter's sword-stroke.
Findegil draws heart from his friends and battle companions, he will not falter easily!
And with fresh heart, his sword arm barely pauses - and strikes a resounding blow!
Amalina continues to try and thin the number of bowmen, again firing at the last one in the line.
Winter circles around in the melee, harassing and biting at the one remaining foe near Anar.
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"A hit! A palpable hit!" Thorgrim states as the foeman cuts him true.
Showing the vigor of his training, he shakes his head and breathes deep, again taking to the fight as if he had rest and cool water.
Again does Noctiscide cut through the air, weaving before it a wall of STEEL that searches hungerly to return the favor.
Jaunter sees the danger that Anar is in, and in a surge of motion, closes the distance, moving to assist the beleaguered Dwarf... dropping the bandit
With Anar's remaining foe down, Cereidh draws on Findegil’s foe. And Winter attacks too.
Findegil with fresh heart, his sword arm barely pauses - and strikes a resounding blow!
Confident in the prowess of the others to help finish the foes engaging Anar and Findegil, Hobwise lets loose another arrow, this time targeting the last wounded warrior attacking Thorgrim.
Amalina continues to try and thin the number of bowmen, again firing at the last one in the line.
Again does Noctiscide cut through the air, weaving before it a wall of STEEL that searches hungerly to return the favor. Thorgrim drops his third opponent.
Anar steps to attack his former adversary who is in melee with Findegil.
The archers continue to fire into the company. Another Eastern shafts hits Amalina.
(Amalina, Anar, Cereidh, Hobwise, Findegil, Jaunter, and Thorgrim)
One warrior 7 counter-attacks but misses Findegil.
The swirling melee of a large battle is confusing, and there are foes all around. Enemies lurch in and out of range; new foes join the fight and wounded enemies fall back. The ground underfoot becomes red-slick with blood.
Beyond the lines of archers, you see Valter the Bloody, the outlaw captain, leading his army from the rear.
Seeing the battlefield briefly clear of enemy swordsman, Hobwise rushes toward to the line of archers, his bow still drawn.
Move 25' + Dash 25' (Cunning Action)
And he fires another arrow at the closest archer, only ten feet away!
Beyond his target, he sees Valter the Coward approaching.
Findegil slashes again, and yells:
"VALTER! CEASE COWERING BEHIND YOUR MEN AND FACE US!"
Wincing as another feathered shaft finds its mark in her leg, Amalina does her best to return the favor sending another arrow at the same banit she struck previously.
With the shield wall seemingly broken, Winter moves forward to distract and engage the archers. Seeing his masters arrow already sticking from one man the big hound does his best to take him down.
Cereidh draws towards the archer that hit Amalina.
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"Yesssss, Thorgrim growls as the enemy falls before his blade like ripe wheat before the scythe. "Thy brother was worried that there were so many of you, but I said to not fear. And I was right!
Is there a man among you?
Who among you still fears death? Who will not face...emptiness!"
Thorgrim's speech is punctuated as he continues his reaping at the remaining sword-wielders, anxious to thin the ranks enough to take but a moment to clear out the bowmen and get to the one man that might offer a fight!
= 8 ._.