Klaidingo pumps out more bolts with ease.
Your preparations of Nesting Swallow have gone well. You feel there is little more you can do now but wait for the bandits to play their hand. Though Kryssa spends the last few days drilling every villager in combat, the rest of you have some time to catch your breath and look around at what you have done. Slowly, the fields are flooded, closing off all avenues of approach but the main road. The barricades are tall and stong, and the villagers mimic it in their posture and confidence. You have given them hope they haven't had in years.
On the last evening you find yourselves watching the sun setting, mirrored on the flooded fields. Silouetted against a sky the color of fire a lone figure on foot approaches the main gates, a wide Takuhatsugasa concealing their face.
The person stops before the gates and looks up, revealing the half-orc face of Gurau Thornfist.
"I heard there may be a fight. Did I hear that right?"
|
Barley spends the remaining time mingling with the villagers, hopefully to lighten hearts before the battle ahead.
The night before the 9th dawn, Barley spent it in contemplation and weapon preparation. He's borrowed a sharpening stone, putting a fine edge on his grandfather's daisho. At first light, he steps out complete in his black and grey outfit, looking like an over-yeasted dinner roll in a Lamellar casing, though nonetheless, quite honorably ninja-like.
|
Raul rises early in the morning to pray to Gorum. As the sun crests the horizon, Raul emerges wearing polished full plate, adorned with an off-white and green silk scarf wrapped around his neck once, and again around his torso like a bandolier. His greatsword glistens in the sun, with no sign of the nicks and scratches on the blade that it had borne as recently as yesterday. He looks out over the horizon, and smiles grimly.
"Many bandits will die this day upon Gorum's blade."
|
|
Klaidingo wakes up and looks at the Tien woman next to him and then to her yoinger sister on the other side. He thinks long amd hard about whether or not these women will be the last of many. He exits their abode and heads towards the recently tilled crops. He takes in the smells of the churned dirt and crisp morning air around him.
Sometimes it's not all fun and hedonism.
He continues walking around kicking the occasional balls of hardened dirt. His keen mind dwells on the many bolts he figured out how to craft just days before, he looks at the new blisters that have recently formed on his normally tough hands
Wood Magic is so much easier than a manual vocation.
As he continues his walk he casts death watch on everyone he walks by just to make sure everyone is at full strength. When the rest of the villagers get the call Klaidingo will cast mage armor on himself.
|
The night before the battle, Chamius cobbles together a pair of drums from a couple of pots. Starting with a simple 1-2-3-4 beat and getting as many villagers as he can to clap along, he adds flourishes and more complex rhythms, layered over the basic beat and returning to it. Then he takes away the complementary beats slowly, ending with the 1-2-3-4, slowing down and dying away. I can't die now...I'm not the best drummer in the world yet.
He has probably a little too much rice wine before turning in.
The next morning, he gets up and stretches before rinsing out his mouth. Food is the last thing on his mind, nerves jangling at the thought of facing dozens of bandits with half-trained peasants. He armors up, belching loudly as the chain shirt settles on his slender frame. Squinting in the dawn's light as he emerges from the home of Xien Wun Lao, he grins at the others, putting his game face on. "I hope they don't keep us waiting too long."
|
|
Kryssa wakes up with a sore throat. Too much saying a butchered version of the Tien word for again during combat training the past week. She's used to teaching warriors how to fight better and not farmers how to be warriors. It has been exhausting.
She makes a few skyclad prayers to Arshea in the morning sun before getting ready for the day. Pants, boots, chaps, shirt, jacket, and gloves. Slowly, most of her tattoos disappear beneath clothing. The lacquered mountain plate armor goes over the top and is a bit cold before her body warms it up. Lastly, her mother's bangled bracelet is tucked into her belt. All dressed.
She looks at her reflection in a polished piece of brass from her bag. Time to pull out her last trick.
|
|
The road still wears on her bones as Gurau Thornfist opens her eyes. Another pair of eyes gazes at her in an annoyed sort of way. "Little Thorn, patience please. The day has barely broken beyond the trees." She shoos her hedgehog off as she gets up. Some complain about being stiff if they sleep in their armor, but she's done it for so long that it doesn't bother her anymore. As one who speaks to the spirits of war, one must always be prepared for them to lay their omens bare.
It was nice to see her allies again. Her sketchbook bore the secret that she had missed their faces more than she liked to admit. The stony brawler, the handsome wordsmith, the boisterous holyman, the quirky black blade, and even the horny goat. They have a new ally as well, but that one puts off the spirit speaker. This angel-touched fighter has a build that would be devastating in battle, but there is something off about this one that Gurau can't quite put her finger on.
Picking up her belt and scabbard, she prepares for the oncoming battle. Little Thorn snuffles unhappily at her again. He's not happy about the oncoming battle. There are too few warriors now and likely too many deaths later. However, there is the a grim determination that has spread across the village. The proud sense of ownership and the willingness to protect it has attracted some spirits of battle to the village. It is still too early to see if it is enough.
Walking out to meet the others, Gurau says, "It's been a long time since we've seen battle together. Luckily, this time isn't in such frigid weather."
|
Jonterra awakes before dawn that morning and spends his morning quietly tending to a villager's, rock "garden", finding his center as his smooths the gravel, then rakes in the parallel, swirling patterns. As the sun rises fully above the horizon, he partakes in one cup of tea and a small bowl of millet.
Only nodding quietly at his companions as he passes them, Jonterra next goes to the village courtyard to participate in the morning exercises. Eyes closed, he moves his body through the prescribed formations with the smoothness of wheat bending in a gentle breeze.
The oread follows up the exercise by a vigorous session of martial training with his temple sword. The whistle of his blade can heard by all who pass by as he sends the sword singing thorough the air as he tumbles and parries imagined attacks from foes.
Once his finishes his training, Jonterra moves to the village well to drink the water and help the villagers as they come out to fetch the morning's water. After this is done, the man moves up to the main road, seats himself in the middle of the road, facing the enemy's position. Easing himself into the lotus position, blade across his lap. The oread loses himself to meditative contemplation, waiting for the day to begin.
|
|
In response to Gurau, the bard grins (a little forcedly). "That, and there's actually something to breathe here. So, how have you and Spiny Norman been keeping yourselves?"
When Kryssa speaks, though, Chamius looks askance at his fellow instructor. "That doesn't sound odd, by half. Could you, perchance, give us an example of what this hypothetical person wearing your things might look like?"
Those who rise before the dawn find the village already stirring with activity. The non-combatants of the village, such as Xien Wun Lao and his wife and children, long used to rising early to start the day, have begun the mundane activities that are as necessary to life as a spear is for protecting it. The elders sit around small cooking stoves and fire pits, preparing a simple breakfast of rice and boiled eggs. Some of the children scurry about offering food to the newly trained militia as they gather in the central yard. Others gather buckets of water to quench thirst and douse any fires that might start in the coming battle.
Near the rock garden Jonterra bears witness to Je Tsun practicing the basic forms of a martial art that must be descended from that once taught by the Masters of the Clouded Path Monastery. Though she should be more hindered by pregnancy, she nonetheless looks graceful as she steps through forms designed to draw on one's ki to enhance strength and speed. She is no master, and it is obvious she has never used her skill in a true fight, but the potential is there.
Later, as dawn breaks over the mountains to the east the newly trained spearmen and archers gather in rows in the center yard and listen as Je Tsun gives them a few soft words of encouragement and support. Though strong and confidant, there is a gleam of barely unshed tears in her eyes.
Though some might be able to cross the flooded fields or circle around behind the village, bandits won't be able to do so without being spotted, and Kryssa believes the villagers are trained well enough to stop those few that make the attempt. That leaves the northern road as the only real avenue of assault, and that is where you find yourselves assembled when Je Tsun approaches your group with a handful of spearmen and archers.
"Your preparations are an unexpected, and unpleasant suprise to them I think." She smiles.
At the lead of the spearmen is man named Bo, who showed promise in his training and has become somewhat of a "captain" among the milita. "Lady Kryssa, fear not. We know what to do and will fight today with honor." He bows deeply and leads the other men and women to positions at the northern barricade. The others have spread themselves out according to Kryssa's instructions, to cover the east, west, and south barricades.
***
Shortly after dawn, riders are spotted in the hills, and by midmorning the entire bandit force circles Nesting Swallow in preparation for launching a raid across the southern fields. The flooded creek halts the riders, however, and they soon fall back to rethink their assault.
At one point a group of riders approaches the village, but when their lead horse and rider fall into one of Raul's pits, they quickly retreat. Around noon a small group attempts to close in on the southern bridge by wading through the fields, but the village archers send a few bolts dangerously close and they fall back as well.
The day is long and tense as Nesting Swallow finds itself waiting for the sword to fall. Villagers spend shifts keeping watch over the hastily erected, crude bamboo walls surrounding their village, and constant reports of the enemy riders’ movements filter back and forth between the barricades. As the sun sinks below the western hills, the sharper-eyed among those manning the barricades report a number of riders forming into groups along the roads; these reports are soon proved true as the sound of hammering hooves comes out of the twilight, and the dusk erupts with tengu warriors riding toward the village.
And so the battle begins.
INITIATIVE
|
|
"When they get closer I'm going to grease the ground under them. But first--" Chamius clears his throat and speaks in a voice that carries over the thunder of hooves and the cries of the tengu. "With wisdom and wit we have worked with you all/Side by side in your labors, lending our aid/Striving and striving, to stand straight and tall/To turn back the tide of the bandit brigade./The feathered foe fights for only their greed/But you battle for home and for hearth in your need/And now we will work so these feathered fiends fall!"
|
|
Although last to knock an arrow, and antithetical to the bard's words, Barley leads a cheer over the camp, "にある 鶏がメニュー！"
The riders close distance, firing shortbows as they gallop down the road. Some arrows fly high, others thunk into the barricade. One bounces harmlessly off Raul's armor.
Jonterra, Barley, Klaidingo and Kryssa return fire at the oncoming riders, but only Kryssa's arrow strikes true, injuring one of the tengu. It struggles in the saddle for a moment, but remains mounted. The village archers put a shot into another bandit among the group, and he turns and rides away with an arrow stuck deeply in his gut.
The riders continue their charge, firing more arrows. Again, none find soft targets, and again one bounces off Raul's armor. When the bandits reach the area greased by Chamius, two horses slide and tumble, sending their riders falling heavily to the ground near the barricade. A third pulls his horse aside, but goes straight into the a set of sharpened stakes planted near the side of the road and impales both himself and his mount upon them.
A lone rider remains mounted, squawking in alarm at his fallen comrades.