Post by The Stranger on Jul 15, 2008 12:09:16 GMT -5
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Ambush in Lannisport, 526 AC
Danwell poked his head out from round the corner of an alleyway. Behind him were Sikil, Ser Verden Turnberry and Brandon Royce mounted on with their horses, keeping them calm and quiet. Gawyn, Wat and Maxwell hid on the second floor of the inn opposite the street, concealed in the darkness. Patrek, Conrad Falconer and the rest of the men were slightly further up the street, nearer the docks. This area seemed to be on the invader’s patrol routes as recent tracks lay on the ground and the region was deserted of the feral locals and so seemed as good a place as any to stage an ambush. The tracks were...unusual however. Despite their best efforts, the trackers in the band had been unable to find their origin point. They just seemed to appear from nowhere, which Danwell found disconcerting, if a little redundant to their current purpose. They merely stationed themselves in an area where the tracks passed through, rather than struggle to find a start point.
Danwell tensed up as he heard in the distance the slow approach of men on foot. He poked his head round the corner again and saw a couple of flashes from one of Patrek’s men. One flash then a second, then a third - and no more. The patrol was 15 men then. A large patrol but Danwell still felt that with the element of surprise he could take them. He signalled the 3 men in the inn to let them know and turned and whispered to the men behind him “Patrol of 15. Remember, no-one escapes and we need at least 1 survivor. Ready yourselves” he scurried back to his own mount and got ready, drawing his sword and checking his armour and stirrups carefully. The noise of the coming patrol grew louder and Danwell could hear some talking in that weird sing-song tongue of theirs. They did not seem alarmed or on edge. Danwell gripped his reins tightly as they drew closer; he could make out individual voices now and could hear the jingling of their equipment and creak of the leather in their armour.
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Seeing the signal from Danwell, Max drew his arrow to his ear and the rest of the archers followed suit. As the attack commenced the archers loosed their shafts. Max's arrow caught his man in his eye slit. The guard was dead before he hit the ground. He struck two more men, maiming them but held his fire after that, half through not wanting to loose too many shafts in case he hit his own side, and half to stop Gawyn – who for some bizarre reason was giggling madly – from falling out of the window and breaking his fool neck
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Gawyn shifted his position once more, to stop his legs from cramping. He was in a bad mood. He felt that he could have been just as much use down below as he was up more, but it seemed his chance to wet his blade in earnest would have to wait, again.
He stirred himself and fumbled with his bow as some activity from Danwell's group caught his eye. Seemed he'd missed the signal. Bollocks, he thought, as he smiled confidently along with the rest of the archers. Wouldn't do to look foolish, even if he didn't know how many of the enemy there were.
The time for thinking was done, as Danwell's party emerged from the shadows screaming bloody murder at a force he couldn’t yet see! Nocking an arrow clumsily, he leaned out the second storey window and loosed. He almost missed, startled at the much larger force as it came into sight, but he righted himself and his arrow thudded home just before Danwell did. Less chance of missing with that many, I suppose, he told himself, striving for calm as he sent another shaft whizzing down.
But he couldn’t help himself. Small, girlish giggles of hysteria escaped him as he sent shaft after shaft at the enemy. He almost fell out the window twice, only for a staying hand from Maxwell.
The other archer cried and leaped forward as Gawyn reached for another arrow, knocking the bow from the younger man's hand. It was then that he realized it was over, and the shaft he was reaching for would have taken one of the King's Men, the only ones left standing in the street. Seven shafts gone from the quiver, and only two had missed. Not a bad day’s work. He giggled again. Have you been drinking, arsehole? He thought to himself.
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Danwell waited for a few more seconds and then dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and yelled “Attack! For Westeros!” as he galloped out like a lunatic towards the startled foe, the other 3 behind him. Now that he could see them for the first time, he was struck by how alike they all seemed. They all wore black armour with faceless black masks covering their face. Even their height and weight appeared to provide little distinction. Danwell observed all this in an instant before he crashed into their front ranks, hacking and slashing with his sword. They reminded him of little chess pieces scattered at an angry whim.
He heard 3 distinct noises as the bowmen loosed their arrows from above with an almost musical “THRUM-THUNK” as they impacted into enemy. Their incomprehensible language was replaced by all too human cries of pain, fear and anger as battle was joined.
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Patrek had tensed as he saw the patrol of fifteen, but he still had confidence in the plan they had set up earlier. In his hand and in some of the other’s were heavy crossbows trained on the patrol, but they had to wait patiently for Danwell’s charge. Then it came, Danwell’s screaming startled then but they readied their pole arms to impale the charging horses. Then Patrek gave the order to fire the crossbows and the bolts slammed into a few of them striking them like mailed fists, causing them to stumble and the men stumbled into each other and knocking their weapons askew, and missing their chance to skewer the charging beasts. Patrek grimaced as his own bolt hit the back of the head of one of them, true it was were he had aimed but it was not a pretty sight. He ran to the battle ready to swing his long axe yet again.
Brandon grimaced as he charged at the foreigners; he just had to fight from horse back. Damn it all! A pole arm rose to strike him off the horse, but he managed to twist and shear off the pointy end he then reversed his sword to bite deep into the man’s arm. He tugged at the reins and the horse rose to kick another man in the face, he could get used to this! The man he had just cut swung the blunt end of his remaining weapon at him, but Brandon managed to block it. He however didn’t see the man behind him and was knocked out of the saddle. On his way down he brought his sword down in an arch, mentally adding some heat to the weapon. The man with the ruined pole arm, now staff, brought it up to block the sword but the sword cut through like a hot knife in butter and sword became lodged into his head.
Brandon rolled as he hit the ground, just fast enough to evade the downward strike of the foreigner that had knocked him from the saddle. The man came at him in a fury of swipes, but Brandon managed to evade all of them, even to the point were he had to jump over the damned thing. He just had to wait, and there! He rushed past the bladed part and into arm reach of the foreigner. He kicked and hit until the man fell down unconscious. Brandon bent down as the small scrap was over and retrieved his sword calmly.
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Though heavily outnumbered, the narrow street and horses restricted the movement of their foe and suddenly Patrek and the rest of the men charged forth from their hiding place to engage them in the rear. All that was left was the butchery as their foes struggled to deal with mounted enemies at the front, archers above and Patrek’s force at the rear. “Remember, I want some prisoners!” Danwell shouted as he sheared off a man’s arm at the shoulder and blocked a blow from their odd looking polearm with his shield. After what seemed like an age but in reality were only a few minutes, the street fell silent apart from the groans of the dying and the curses of Danwell’s own wounded men. He rubbed a bloody hand across his brow and looked about to see the results. “We lost one” said Patrek grimly. “Derrik from Rosby took a loose arrow in the shoulder and was gutted by one of their bloody pole-arms. Apart from that we got away very lightly, couple of light wounds but nothing too bad. I managed to knock one unconscious and I think Brandon got another”
Danwell nodded at the report “Ok, let’s get these corpses stripped and hidden in the ruins. I doubt we’ll stop the enemy finding them but you never know. Bring the prisoners along and we’ll question them away from here, in case another patrol happens along”
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As they dragged the guards in to the ruins and looted them. Max took all the food and got a nice pair of boots out of it. He then stripped the man of everything except his undergarments. While eating his guardsman's jerky he found what looked to be a purple ring with a basilisk etched into it. He put the ring on along with the guard’s armour.
Results:
Ser Danwell Farring improves to Expert Sword
Ser Danwell Farring improves to Apprentice Ambush
Ser Patrek Redfort improves towards Master Crossbow
Ser Patrek Redfort improves to Noteworthy Battle Tactics (fighting in cities/keeps)
Brandon Royce improves towards Grandmaster Sword
Brandon Royce gains Beginner Hand to Hand Fighting
Maxwell Hill improves to Expert Archery
Maxwell Hill improves to Novice Ambush
Gawyn of Tarth improves to Expert Archery
Gawyn of Tarth improves to Noteworthy Stealth