Perrish considers the information and paces a bit, idly tapping her staff. "Hmm... We should find out who the leader was before, and why there was a revolt. And who is this 'Black Arne'? What house does she come from? It seems like I'd know her if she was Ketilborn." The old woman remarks as she searches her mind for someone in her past who might've been described as such.
According to Wrongir's intelligence, the previous leader was named Bloodclaw. Alfhild assumes that the revolt happened due to only the strongest being able to lead the Shipyard.
Perrish cannot recall anyone even slightly by that name in her past, or well-known anywhere she is from.
According to Alfhild, Black Arne isn't from any house; she's rumored to be from the sea.
Torag looks darkly at the others as they speak of this 'Black Arne'.
"From the sea you say! Well it might be one of those monsters which infest my own people's lands. I would surely like to rid the world of another of those foul beasts!"
"Wouldn't we all, Torag, wouldn't we all," says Pike, nervous but clearly interested in the unknown.
"And let's hope we're stronger than that Bloodclaw was. I think it goes without saying we should time our attack with their celebration, yes? Which would mean we'd need to start preparing our warriors immediately."
"How many days' travel is it to the shipyards?" Perrish demands. "If we're to hit them while they're drunk, we need to hurry." Her face wrinkles up in stern concentration.
"Even if we defeat their new leader, I fear this sea witch may give us trouble beyond what we can prepare for. Too many underestimate the true power of magic."
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Wrongir nods, intruigued by this new information. "Mmm. By then, not all of your warriors will have arrived, and by our last count the Shipyard numbered over thirty weak, and fifteen strong."
"How would you like to proceed?"
Pike thinks for a moment, recalling the map they'd had drawn up the day before by their prisoner.
"Well, we'll need numbers, but we shouldn't, and can't, expect to be charging in the front door, not all of us anyway. Even with most of the Freed celebrating, I'd imagine they'd have a few sentries. Maybe we can ourselves cross the water and enter from the opposite side of the shipyard, take out the guards quietly, and then move on the Feasting Hall?"
Even as Pike said it, he realized there was an awful lot that could go wrong in that plan.
"Well I think we need to deal with this sea witch. If we sneak into the ale storage house, we can deal with this witch and whittle their forces as they send men to fetch the drink. Then we can have our men stage an attack as a distraction while we move on the leader ourselves." Perrish suggests, looking into the air as though watching the whole event playing out before her.
Wrongir nods approvingly. "If the strong are truly inside drinking, their watch wll be limited- you should be able to sneak through..."
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The week passes in martial preparation. Amid the pig sheds and new walls of the Dawnfort, your men drill in preparation. Running, jumping, sword-fighting, shield-raising, arrow shooting for a few with talent. Mostly under Alfhild's stern eye, though she does call the rest of you in to show off your own professions and specailties.
Come the night of the Shipyard's celebration, with night fresh-fallen, you all stand together in the now-quiet courtyard of the Dawnfort. Alfhild strides her way up and down in front of your men- volunteers from all houses. "Soldiers of the valley... our mission is tonight. The Shipyard, with its bandits and tyrants, is feasting... and we've an opportunity to sneak in, raise some hell, and retake it. No more deaths at the hands of the freed; no more cattle stolen, food plundered."
She turns to you all, and comes to attention. "Sirs... what are you orders? Do you require any of us on your initial infiltration, your attack on the Strong as they feast?"
The old Mother Perrish nudges Pike. "Tell them to hold back and attack at our signal. We can do our business at night and go for the leader when they launch their attack."
She then stops to ponder aloud, "What should our signal be...?"
Pike nods in agreement. "A little oil, a rag, and an arrow would probably do the trick. By the time anyone in the camp notices, it'll be too late."
Perrish nudges Pike sharply to prompt him to address the troops.
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