Post by Horas on Nov 24, 2008 1:10:46 GMT -5
Ondrew sat across the fire from his The Burley and The Knott. They’d ask him to come and share the tale of the ambush with them. They were trying to account the numbers, and see if it was yet time to make the final press against Pine Motte. The Knotts were of the opinion that now was the time to move against the Liddles stronghold, while Herdon thought it best to get a pair of eyes to see who stood with the Liddles still. The Liddle’s wife, an elderly woman with a clubbed foot, spooned more of the goat stew into Ondrew’s bowl.
“Now, we must strike them now while they are weakened.” The Knott said, but Ondrew’s grandfather shook his head warily.
“We must know what we are up against. Ondrew, take what men as you need, and scout the camp. Give us word as what we would face.”
“Yes Grandfather.” Ondrew said, dipping his head slightly, before finishing the stew in silence.
“That’s well and good, but if we are not assembled and moving towards them, anything Ondrew finds out will be of no use to us. We should move to hold the South bend so we can strike as soon as we hear the word.”
”Very well.” The Burley said, “We shall assemble at the South Bend. But we are only moving forward when Ondrew tells us what he’s seen.” Herndon waved a hand to dismiss Ondrew.who crawled out of the small flap out of The Knott’s longhouse.
The Knotts’ fastness was much the same as where his grandfather lived, without of course the river. He imagined Liddle’s was much the same as well. That evening he picked his Uncle Halgar, and cousins Torrhen and Robert. He hoped to move quickly, to avoid notice.
He gentle shook Halgar awake.
“Uncle Halgar, Grandfather wants us ready to leave tonight, to scout the Liddle’s fastness.”
”Who else goes?”
”Besides you, Torrhen and Robert.”
“And my boy Robb.”
“Are you sure he’s ready,” Ondrew asked. It seemed a silly question, as he was only a year older than the sixteen year old.
“Aye, he’s ready.”
“Well than alright.”
They stole from camp that night, and headed out. They wanted to reach the Liddles’ territory before morning. They crept through the forest quickly as they dared. When they reached Liddle territory, their pace slowed, fearful that the wrong sound might give away their position.
They made their camp on a rock cropping just south of the pine motte. They had no fire, to keep warm, for fear it would identify them to their enemies. But they ate salted pork for breakfast, as Ondrew counted the men in the camp. There seemed to be perhaps twenty-five men on guard, give or take. But the number seemed low. Where were the other men? Ondrew was suspicious.
He instructed his relatives to wait for him, prepared to flee.
He carefully crept down from their vantage point, climbing down the rocky path so slowly he felt sure it would be daylight well before he reached the bottom.
But finally his feet touched soft ground, and he dropped into a crouch, as he advanced through the thick wall of blue spruces which surrounded the wooden fort. He reached the wall silently, and began to climb the tall wooden timbers which formed the wall. Getting up was the easy part, it was getting down that would be risky, for on the inside, a deep ditch of perhaps five feet in width, with sharpened spikes covered in dung. To fall would mean death, whether immediately by the guard’s spears or by taking fever.
Delicately, ever so delicately, he crawled down the wall, and was able to pick his way through the spikes. The Liddles were huddled around a fire for warmth, but the flames would ruin their night sight Ondrew knew. He moved towards the longhouse where The Liddle would be keeping his counsels.
Sheep bleated as he moved passed their fold, and for a moment he thought he was done for, but the nearest Liddle paid the sound no attention, asleep as he was, clutching a wineskin.
Reaching his destination, Ondrew pressed his ear against the timbers of the long house. He could see the fire flickering inside, and hear the voices. He strained to hear their words.
“These damnable Burleys and their running dogs, those Knotts are relentless. They raid across our territory, striking our bands and stealing sheep and fodder. We know they are preparing to strike us here, yet you refuse to call the men to us, why?”
“Be patient cousin,” came a deep voice which seemed to ooze authority. “We have them where we want them. They are forming their men to strike here. To do that they must take the South bend pass. Where our men wait in ambush. We will finish this swiftly.” There was movement than, and Ondrew pressed himself against the wall as the men emerged. He did not recognize the first man, but the second was very tall and broad, with long grey hair, and a bush grey beard. Ondrew did not need anyone to tell him that it was The Liddle, Duran, the Grey Dog.
“They are walking into an ambush, I must warn them,” The young burley whispered to himself. Determined he stole back across the Liddle camp the way he had come.
Reaching the wall, Ondrew heard a man’s voice.
“Ahhh, that’s right.” It was a guard, standing over the pit, relieving himself. His fire burnt spear just a few inches from his hand. Ondrew slowly drew his dirk from the leather sheath on his belt. The tiny sound of scraping metal made him wince, but the guard did not seem to hear. Ondrew crept forward, his dagger at a low ready. With a single step forward, he lunged, driving the blade into the man’s back between second and third ribs. The man exhaled a slight, whistling sound, and than fell. Ondrew laid him down in the spiked pit, and than delicately made his way over the wall.
As he moved to rejoin his small troop, he prayed to the Old Gods that they would arrive in time.
Results:
Ondrew Burley to Noteworthy Stealth
Ondrew Burley to Expert Small blades
“Now, we must strike them now while they are weakened.” The Knott said, but Ondrew’s grandfather shook his head warily.
“We must know what we are up against. Ondrew, take what men as you need, and scout the camp. Give us word as what we would face.”
“Yes Grandfather.” Ondrew said, dipping his head slightly, before finishing the stew in silence.
“That’s well and good, but if we are not assembled and moving towards them, anything Ondrew finds out will be of no use to us. We should move to hold the South bend so we can strike as soon as we hear the word.”
”Very well.” The Burley said, “We shall assemble at the South Bend. But we are only moving forward when Ondrew tells us what he’s seen.” Herndon waved a hand to dismiss Ondrew.who crawled out of the small flap out of The Knott’s longhouse.
The Knotts’ fastness was much the same as where his grandfather lived, without of course the river. He imagined Liddle’s was much the same as well. That evening he picked his Uncle Halgar, and cousins Torrhen and Robert. He hoped to move quickly, to avoid notice.
He gentle shook Halgar awake.
“Uncle Halgar, Grandfather wants us ready to leave tonight, to scout the Liddle’s fastness.”
”Who else goes?”
”Besides you, Torrhen and Robert.”
“And my boy Robb.”
“Are you sure he’s ready,” Ondrew asked. It seemed a silly question, as he was only a year older than the sixteen year old.
“Aye, he’s ready.”
“Well than alright.”
They stole from camp that night, and headed out. They wanted to reach the Liddles’ territory before morning. They crept through the forest quickly as they dared. When they reached Liddle territory, their pace slowed, fearful that the wrong sound might give away their position.
They made their camp on a rock cropping just south of the pine motte. They had no fire, to keep warm, for fear it would identify them to their enemies. But they ate salted pork for breakfast, as Ondrew counted the men in the camp. There seemed to be perhaps twenty-five men on guard, give or take. But the number seemed low. Where were the other men? Ondrew was suspicious.
He instructed his relatives to wait for him, prepared to flee.
He carefully crept down from their vantage point, climbing down the rocky path so slowly he felt sure it would be daylight well before he reached the bottom.
But finally his feet touched soft ground, and he dropped into a crouch, as he advanced through the thick wall of blue spruces which surrounded the wooden fort. He reached the wall silently, and began to climb the tall wooden timbers which formed the wall. Getting up was the easy part, it was getting down that would be risky, for on the inside, a deep ditch of perhaps five feet in width, with sharpened spikes covered in dung. To fall would mean death, whether immediately by the guard’s spears or by taking fever.
Delicately, ever so delicately, he crawled down the wall, and was able to pick his way through the spikes. The Liddles were huddled around a fire for warmth, but the flames would ruin their night sight Ondrew knew. He moved towards the longhouse where The Liddle would be keeping his counsels.
Sheep bleated as he moved passed their fold, and for a moment he thought he was done for, but the nearest Liddle paid the sound no attention, asleep as he was, clutching a wineskin.
Reaching his destination, Ondrew pressed his ear against the timbers of the long house. He could see the fire flickering inside, and hear the voices. He strained to hear their words.
“These damnable Burleys and their running dogs, those Knotts are relentless. They raid across our territory, striking our bands and stealing sheep and fodder. We know they are preparing to strike us here, yet you refuse to call the men to us, why?”
“Be patient cousin,” came a deep voice which seemed to ooze authority. “We have them where we want them. They are forming their men to strike here. To do that they must take the South bend pass. Where our men wait in ambush. We will finish this swiftly.” There was movement than, and Ondrew pressed himself against the wall as the men emerged. He did not recognize the first man, but the second was very tall and broad, with long grey hair, and a bush grey beard. Ondrew did not need anyone to tell him that it was The Liddle, Duran, the Grey Dog.
“They are walking into an ambush, I must warn them,” The young burley whispered to himself. Determined he stole back across the Liddle camp the way he had come.
Reaching the wall, Ondrew heard a man’s voice.
“Ahhh, that’s right.” It was a guard, standing over the pit, relieving himself. His fire burnt spear just a few inches from his hand. Ondrew slowly drew his dirk from the leather sheath on his belt. The tiny sound of scraping metal made him wince, but the guard did not seem to hear. Ondrew crept forward, his dagger at a low ready. With a single step forward, he lunged, driving the blade into the man’s back between second and third ribs. The man exhaled a slight, whistling sound, and than fell. Ondrew laid him down in the spiked pit, and than delicately made his way over the wall.
As he moved to rejoin his small troop, he prayed to the Old Gods that they would arrive in time.
Results:
Ondrew Burley to Noteworthy Stealth
Ondrew Burley to Expert Small blades