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> Canvas Eagles, and other solo adventures. Narratives, unfortunately, included
b20f08
post Jul 19 2018, 02:32 PM
Post #61


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The following battle maps for two of the remaining three scenarios to finish, something that will be undertaken in the next two days/nights.

Scenario 9: Hammer and Anvil scenario (from book). Combatants: Falwin van Eebacht (Flemish) vs Francis of Lorraine (Swiss/German). Eebacht is attempt to extricate himself and his retinue from a planned ambush by Francis. No map currently; it will be available with the batrep.

Scenario 10: Sortie. One of my invented scenarios. Features Lady Alice of Morloss (German) and Ulgar Harlfsen (Scandinavian). Alice is part of a force besieged by an enemy force constituting of Harlfsen's Livonian Brothers of the Sword. She undertakes a sortie to demoralise Harlfsen by attacking him while he is resting in his encampment.
IPB Image

Scenario 11: Bloodbath scenario (from book). The ongoing blood fued between the Bassilians and the Livonian Sword Brethren continues between two opposing forces. Wult von Drimmerstein, who is now head of the Brothers, encounters a force led by Leo du Boitur, a new arrival to the Bassilian cause. Boitur occupies the higher ground and cannot be flanked. Drimmerstein is therefore left with no option but to mount a frontal assault on the Bassilians.
IPB Image

Scenario 12: Brief already mentioned. Link

These will satisfy the gaming itch while I assemble my Handley Page 400. Cheers.


--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Jul 22 2018, 02:23 PM
Post #62


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Been distracted by this Handley Page bomber build. Not the most patient assembler, nor the neatest. Good enough is my motto. Anyway, as long as it's ready to lumber on to the gaming table in time for the next get-together, I will be both relieved and satisfied.

As for the Lion Rampant scenarios, they've been pushed back to the weekdays as a result of the distraction of the HP build. Hopefully I can enjoy some peace and quiet (ie. no distractions) to devote time to finishing off the solo campaigning season with some good outcomes. Apologies in advance.


--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Jul 25 2018, 02:03 AM
Post #63


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Prelude to Scenario 12

Given the sudden rise in conflicts within his territory, Lord Auron has sent words to his vassals for assistance to help deal with this sudden tension. This narrative concerns one such errand: one of his messengers has ridden alone to the holdings of one, Malhard (pronounced Mall-ar) Dufreynne, a warrior farmer.

Narrative
Malhard Dufreynne was not one given to exaggeration. Working the land all your life tended to give one both a determined yet realistic perspective about life in general. But right now he was troubled. The news reaching him was not favourable to himself and his circumstance.

“Milord, what shall I relay back to our liege lord?”

The messenger was anxious to be away from this hulk of a man; something in his posture seemed to frighten him somehow. Perhaps it was the unblinking stare of those dark yet glinting eyes, or the way he held his mace firmly, like some ruler about to dispense justice. Maybe it was silence within the smoky chamber, a mezzanine floor within a stone oblong manor house that had a large basement. He dared not look around in case he missed something from the recipient of his errand. The smell wasn’t all that comfortable but not uncommon given these provincial locations; after all, what better haven than one’s own manor to house both people and livestock in these troubling times. And this place looked very stout indeed. Malhard just seemed to add the crown to that feeling of defensible sturdiness.

“Tell your master, I will come after the harvesting. No sooner.” Malhard’s voice was steady and booming as if accustomed to dealing with underlings. The messenger shifted uncomfortably; the urge to leave was growing.

“But, milord, the brigandry is now widespread throughout these territories. And my master is hard pressed to deal with it. Your valued assistance would help his cause immensely,” said the messenger. The chamberlain had been very insistent on him to get Malhard to come. “Milord considers him a valued lieutenant and needs him,” the chamberlain had said before his departure. “What if I cannot persuade him, sir?” The chamberlain just looked at him without saying anything further.

The efforts of the messenger had been in vain however. Malhard countered his arguments with very sensible responses. Now the messenger resorted to pleading.

Malhard slowly shook his head. Doing so revealed the huge scar that ran down the right side of his face, from just above his brow down to his jawline. His right eye was filmy, as if blinded by the blade that had fortunately been dulled by the helmet and chainmail. The messenger was shocked to see that the knight of Lorduil was clean-shaven, which was unusual. It was further accentuated by the contrast of his long black unkempt hair.

“My word on the matter is said, errander. Now, if no further news, I must return to my work. Meagre as it is, you are welcome to refreshen yourself. Mathilde, see to this man.” Malhard arose from his stout seat and made for the door. From the shadows emerged another man, one the messenger had failed to notice on first arriving inside the knight’s manor. This fellow was a foreigner, attired in so exotic a costume as to startle the messenger. He was dark-skinned, darker than any Spaniard he’d known (and he’d known many in his duties as one of the Lord Auron’s messengers). His bow and quarrel indicated eastern origin; but beyond that assessment, he knew nothing more. Maybe he was Saracen or Moor, he wondered. Captured and enslaved? But he saw no chains upon him.

Unashamedly he was ogling the second fellow who quietly followed Malhard outside. But before the fellow exited, he looked back at the messenger boldly as if to return the undue attention. The messenger looked away quickly.

Mathilde suddenly appeared carrying a platter which she quietly placed on a small bench table close to the messenger. The smell of freshly roasted meat suddenly invaded his nostrils. He turned to the fare now and eagerly sat down and began to eat hungrily. The man was left alone to enjoy his meal alone. Between gulps and sighs of the sated, his mind returned to what he was going to tell the chamberlain. He rationalised it very simply: I’ve delivered the message, and Lord Malhard has given his reply. I’ve therefore done my duty, as instructed. No blame on me. Problem is now theirs to deal with. End of story. Satisfied with himself, he concentrated on consuming the entire meal of roasted meat, fresh bread, a pudding with fruit on the side, and a local ale that he found very palatable.

When he had drained the last of the tasty ale, he belched loudly. The feeling left him pleased. Below, in the open space that served both barn and defensive hold, some sheep bleated. The messenger eyed his empty tankard. Unabashed, he banged it on the table. Mathilde reappeared almost immediately. She was carrying a tall jug, as if she knew he would demand a refill. She kept her eyes on the laden container so that the man had a good eyeful of the tall woman who bore fine features, strong and clean. And her figure showed she was still young and appealing. Her face was partly covered by her head of brown hair that dangled in her face which he was barely able to recognise. What he saw though made him reckon her very attractive. Maybe she might share more than just ale, he thought to himself. She silently refilled the tankard full. Then she spun about and started back to whereever she’d emerged from.

“Hold one, lass,” said the messenger. “Come join me, will you?”

Mathilde turned back and glared at the man for a moment before displaying her most winsome smile. She curtsied slightly, more as a gesture of a hostess perhaps accustomed to such approaches.

“My husband would not approve of such behaviour, master. His generosity only extends to that basic of hospitality – food and shelter to those weary travellers or strangers seeking refuge for the night. But if you insist further, then I must seek his permission?”

“Who be that then, lassie, cos this plain feast yet fine ale has left me with a whole new appetite of sorts that needs fulfilling. I can make it worth your time.” He produced his weighty purse and shook it in front of her. She eyed the purse carefully for a moment.

Mathilde feigned a look of innocent surprise. “Why, milord Malhard of course.”

The messenger’s face paled suddenly. Then blushed red. He suddenly stammered out an apology and hastily withdrew. But not before depositing a few coins “for the fine meal, milady” and bolting out the door.

Mathilde just laughed. “Peasant!”

This post has been edited by b20f08: Jul 25 2018, 02:08 AM


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Jul 25 2018, 06:17 PM
Post #64


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Prelude to Scenario 10: The Sortie

Another narrative, this time regarding one of the new characters, Alice of Morloss, who has married into the de Beuthmont clan/family. Sadly her husband, Olivier, died in a recent hunting accident leaving Alice alone to manage their newly acquired estate.

Narrative
Alice bowed her head lower. Her eyes were shut tight. Her heart was racing. She forced herself to slow her breathing; she feared she was making a spectacle of herself in front of the others. She could hear herself uttering the rituals, responding to the entreaties of the priest whose tone implied an over familiarity with the rites in that chapel.

“Bless me merciful father,” she said, ending this phase of the service. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared at the sudden sight of a gilt large crucifix thrust in her face. Her Saviour was sad and seemed to be reproaching her for her present lassitude. She leaned in and kissed it, muttering quickly the ritual. The crucifix moved past her. As leading noble, she alone occupied the front row. Her husband, Olivier, had been dead these past few months, felled in a hunting accident leaving her sole ruler of their new estate. The bliss they shared was gone. Long gone.

Behind her the voices of the congregation offered a moment of private reflection. The plan, as devised by Yvaine and Amiery, was bold. It was decisive. And if executed properly, it would be devastating upon her foe. The thought of hurting Ulfgar the Red somehow pleased her. She crossed herself at the guilty pleasure.

Outside, after the service, she strode up to her lieutenants, gathered in the open courtyard of the citadel. Oltho, her chief lieutenant and leader of the sortie, bowed at her arrival.

“Milady, we are ready to depart.”

She nodded but said nothing at first. She glanced up at the western sun as it was lowering itself behind a cloud bank. “No moon tonight?”

Yvaine, the younger of the two Fassois brothers, being the more excitable, spoke quickly. “Milady, indeed. We must be away. Marcot and the others are already scouting the woods.”

Oltho rolled his eyes. The others just smiled at this youthful exuberance. Yvaine was one of the better swordsman, perhaps the best. He commanded the mounted Serjeants.

“Milady,” Oltho began, “While there is still daylight, we must away in time to execute the plan.”

Alice listened, her thoughts unfathomable to Oltho and the others. They were waiting on her word to release them and make Ulfgar pay.

“As you shall, Oltho,” she said finally. “But I will accompany you.”

The look of surprise was quite amusing if it weren’t so serious. She smiled for them instead. “Knights and commanders, I am your leader, no?”

Oltho nodded. “But milady, the plan did not call for you to accompany us, in any capacity. It would be foolish to risk your person to what lies ahead. It is for us to accomplish this and not upon you.”

The others were nodding in agreement at Oltho’s comment. His words were strong and wise. But Alice was determined.

“Your argument is noted, milord Oltho. But as is my right as head of this family, I insist. And you, of all, should know I am more than capable of handling myself. Am I right?”

Oltho agreed and said nothing in reply. But Yvaine was less accommodating. “Milady, this is foolishness on your part to gamble with your life as head of our family. We, your subordinates, are more than willing, and capable, of dealing to this Ulfgar as our code demands. I have to protest strongly against your decision.”

Alice held up a hand. Yvaine’s frustration was somehow overcome as the reasoned hand of Amiery gripped his shoulder tightly. Yvaine turned to his twin. Amiery shook his head. “Did you forget your place, dear brother? We serve milady. We swore to our liege lord, her husband, our life in service. Would you renege on your oath?”

Alice smiled fondly. Amiery was always the sensible one. Yvaine blushed, fidgeted momentarily before turning back and suddenly kneeled to the ground, head hung low. “Milady, my apologies for protesting. I am a fool.” He remained there.

Alice’s smile became a laugh. Oltho smiled.

“Arise, young knight. You have not erred except to make known your feelings on this. And I am in gratitude for your devotion and concern. But I have made up my mind. Ulfgar has offended my name for too long now, and I wish to question him on this.”

She placed a hand on Yvaine’s shoulder. He looked up at her with obvious relief. Then grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“Now my commanders, let us away and see what Ulfgar is having for his dinner, shall we?”

This post has been edited by b20f08: Jul 25 2018, 06:19 PM


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Jul 26 2018, 04:18 PM
Post #65


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A new narrative for another scenario, probably Scenario 9: Hammer and Anvil. Cheers.

Narrative
Emil looked down at the ruin that once was his home. The bodies outside had already been removed by his soldiers. The stench of death and smoke was strong that it was hard not to gag. His stomach roiled in complaint, but he willed it to cease. He willed it because it was all he could do. He stared helplessly at the blackened entrance, the skeletal blackened timbers seemingly mocking him. He slowly entered unconsciously making for the one room he knew they would be. And they were there. All three of them, huddled in one corner. She had covered the two little ones with her body. He stopped some distance away, frightened by what he was seeing. Tears now streamed down his grime-speckled face. Into his full beard the hot tears ran. His eyes clouded over and he had to brush them clear with his dirty hand. He drew closer and knelt in front of them. The fire had been fierce; they were fused together. Her long slender arm was now a blackened bony covering. Little Anthea. Only two. Jansi. Five. Their tiny figures all but unrecognisable. Blackened lumps. And Wilhemina. He sobbed now. Convulsively. All restraint gone as he touched their burnt remains.

That was where Horis found him. He thought to speak but wisely backtracked, leaving his commander to his grief. Outside, the others had already begun to saddle. “Where is Emil?” asked Gabreal.

“Inside,” Horis said. He said nothing further which everyone understood instantly. This was not their village so they didn’t really care. But it was Emil’s. Different story. They patiently waited. Some were already filling the waiting time by quickly scrubbing and cleaning their wargear as best they can. Horis, to fill his own time, sent a few as outriders and sentries, “just in case the bastards return.”

Eventually Emil re-emerged from his private moment. He had his helm on with its full face mask down. To Horis and the others, that was a sure sign someone was going to pay for this. A few whooped. Emil leapt into his saddle and roughly turned it around and rode off without a word. The others followed as best they could for Emil rode like a man on a mission. Like an avenger out for revenge. There was going to be hell for those chosen, thought Horis as he raced to ride alongside his leader.

===========================================

Charles glanced at the pittance spread before him. He was extremely disappointed. A few trinkets that were worth nothing much. The rest were farming utensils. What need of these shoddy implements? If he wanted tools, he would have become a blacksmith, he thought to himself angrily.

“You bring me this and expect me to pay you for it?” the merchant finally said.

He was irritated by Raimon who stood before him. Raimon simply shrugged his massive shoulders. He was a brute of man who might have been strapping had not his malicious nature not moulded him into the murdering brigand he was. What care did he have for what others thought. He had the strength and means to gain what he desired. And he took what he desired. But now he needed money so he pay his unruly band waiting on the outskirts of town. He’d come in with two others, Misha and Laurent, the closest thing to trusted allies. They lounged in the background; Laurent was eating an apple he had plucked from a barrel of apples, Misha was cleaning his fingernails with a very skinny blade.

“Take it or leave, merchant. But pay me like our agreement. Or have you forgotten it?” Raimon said smilingly. Charles thought the smile cold. And he personally detested the rogue. But they had a working agreement that boosted Charles’ income enough to make him the trader to deal with in these parts.

Charles was not bothered by Raimon’s air of menace either. He had insurance. And that insurance stepped forward from behind Charles’ back. Brutus was your archtypical goon – big, dumb but extremely brutal in a fight. He was also surprisingly quick. He knew Raimon’s type all too well. He glared at the brigand who was leaning on the table. Raimon looked up but quickly smiled. Again Charles noted it was a cold one, devoid of anything remotely resembling a smile.

“Steady on, ox,” Raimon glibly said as he stood back up. He turned back to his stare of Charles. “Now, about our money!”

Charles had already decided. He pulled out a small purse that jingled. He threw it on to the table before Raimon who quickly snatched it up. He tested its weight before opening it. Laurent, still munching his apple, came over and peered over Raimon’s shoulder as the latter opened the purse and poured some of the coins into his large hand. The pair both smiled at the sight.

“That’s the last payment I’ll be making under the current arrangement,” Charles said. The announcement made Raimon look up as he returned the coins and secured it in his vest.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I have felt the need to draw up a new agreement. Based on your past few deliveries, which have proven unsatisfactory I might add, I am hereby setting a new quota based on quality. No more by weight. Understand?”

Raimon’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “What is this quality rubbish, merchant? We’ve always delivered. And you know it.”

Charles pointed to the items still sprawled on the heavy oaken table. “This is just rubbish. I will barely be able to get back anywhere near what I’ve paid out for them. How am I suppose to trade this off then? Look at this ring?” He pulled out a ring which still had a finger attached. A woman’s finger. It was a thin band. “It’s not even gold!”

Raimon shrugged. “So? It weighs like one. Tell you what, you can have the finger for free. As a sign of good faith.” That brought a snorting laugh from Laurent who sprayed his chewed up apple everywhere. Misha snickered.

Charles’ face mottled. “Even so. The arrangement is now in place. Bring me quality items. Gold. Silver. Gems. Not farmer’s shears or sickles. Or chopped off body parts with cheap fake ornaments. Got it?”

Raimon mockingly bowed. “As you so wish, milord.” The laughter grew louder among the trio. Charles just endured it, secretly pleased that Raimon had accepted the change so readily. “Fool. Mock away all you want,” he thought as his mind raced ahead to what he could obtained for reselling his "new" inventory. His generous face soon changed as he too began to laugh.

This post has been edited by b20f08: Jul 28 2018, 06:17 AM


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 2 2018, 05:49 AM
Post #66


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Some more narrative writing exercising. Or as we English-English pronounciators say, practising. This one is a Canvas Eagles one. Very atmospherically moody; quite reflective. Features ducks, one of my favourite foods.

Escargot Fondly

Valery watched the ducks approach, searching the ground for any scrap or morsel. He tossed some bread crumbs their way. With that waddling frenzy that was generally comical, they raced up and devoured the crumbs there, and anything else their duck bills collected.

One particular duck, plain in appearance and smaller than its more striking darker plumed companion seemed to edge closer to him, perhaps attracted by the bread slice dangling in his hand. Valery sat still admiring the boldness of the creature and fascinated at this contact between himself and another being. Carefully it neared, wagging its tail, tilting its head or examining the ground for any further tasty crumbs. Valery extended his arm, bread wagging in that tremulous extension. The duck stopped only centimetres from his hand.

Valery, for some reason, suddenly grew intense in this moment between himself and the duck. He made some coaxing sound, so he thought. The duck flicked its head from side to side as if closely eyeing up this looming thing. Valery seemed to hold his breath as the duck edged closer. Closer. Still closer. Then it snatched at the bread slice and sped away. It had a sizeable chunk of the bread. And it seemed to be drawing much attention from its companion who sped after it, making some noise.

Valery looked down at his hand, at the remains of his snack. He threw it away, sparking interest from some other birds who fought noisily over it, breaking, tearing, scattering pieces everywhere. For an instant, Valery was reminded of the war. But then his vision told him no. It was just some birds, It was afternoon. He was safely back at base.

He brushed clean his hands of any bread residue before wiping his palms on his sturdy trousers, heavy woollen fabric. He lit a cigarette, taking it from its silver plated case. The reflection of the low afternoon sun sparkled into his eyes. He winced. But then, again, he remembered where he was. The smoke was strong, pungent, reminding him of lazy summer days by the cliffs of his coastal home.

The thought seemed to revive something fond. A welling in his eyes made him start. He took a long draw of his cigarette before flicking it away, exciting some scavenging birds who had stayed behind. He glanced at the smouldering butt. Then his eyes swept the ground hoping to find the duck. He knew it was a waste of his time, but he loitered for a while as he cast his sharp gaze on the departing birds. No duck.

He smiled. It was a good thing. He rose to his feet; the ache of being seated for so long made him stagger a little. He bounced on his feet before turning and entering his hut. It was not long to go before the meal call. But he was not hungry. Not today.


--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 4 2018, 12:20 AM
Post #67


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Prelims done. Game to be played later on today. Maybe get in a second afterwards.

New Narrative for Scenario 9
Sebastien raced along the muddy trail. Maryann had been very talkative, so much so that she told him unthinkingly that the new lord of the region was making for Cibunan with his retinue. When he pressed her for information, she said, “On the morrow, of course.” He thought she was joking him: she liked her fun with him at times, especially when she wanted something from him. He turned to another of the local villagers, a more reliable source. “Aye, she’s right there. My boy saw a whole passel of them heading for Chezamon the other day. They were in a hurry some. Didn’t even stop to pillage our place, like they usually do.” Sebastien’s mind slowly put the pieces together. And came up with something altogether unpleasant.

It didn’t take him long to jump on his horse and ride to the crossroads before taking the right turn up a muddy trail which had been made worse by a recent storm. The trail led eventually to Chezamon but it was a winding treacherous path barely able to cater to a single beast; lucky for him, he was making for the rising ground looming on his right which was not far from the village. A dark ominous-looking ancient forest blanketed that high ground dominating that part of the region. It was surrounded by pockets of uneven broken ground, the kind that breaks ankles quite easily. A natural defensive position, accentuated by the heavy trunks of the stout woods.

He soon spotted the turn off and turned up its narrow winding trail that seemed to fade into that dark ominous wooded terrain.

“Hold it right there, dog boy. Where you think you’re going then?”

The voice was followed quickly by the sudden appearance of a large man just off the trail. He had stepped out from behind an outcrop of mossy-covered boulders. He was a brutish looking man seemingly toting lots of weapons. He now brandished one easily, a wicked looking double axe. From a quick casual glance, he might pass for a woodsman except for the axe which looked more like it was used for fighting than chopping wood.

Sebastien reined in abruptly. His mind was still ruminating over the information and therefore he had forgotten about the sentries. But their delaying only lent him a greater sense of urgency which was betrayed by his voice.

“Get out of my way, you oaf. I have important news for the captain!”

The brute stayed where he was. From the trees, Sebastien saw several others lurking in the half-lit gloom. They were all armed, and a couple had their crossbows trained on him.

“Better stand aside, Huyl, lest you want to explain later for this unnecessary delay.”

Huyl didn’t like Sebastien that much. “Self important bastard! What’s got your tail all frightened then. Those wenches in the village slap you round a bit, eh? Can't handle a bit of skirt then?" He snickered, a throaty sound that seemed forced and phlegmy. He confirmed it by spitting a gob in Sebastien's direction.

Some of those close enough to hear his words tittered as well. Sebastien was about to respond but then remembered Maryann’s words “…why tomorrow, of course…”

“Look Huyl, I have urgent and important news for our Captain. Let me pass and I won’t tell him you delayed me.”

Huyl growled. His job was to prevent unwanted prying eyes. Sebastien unfortunately was not prying eyes. But that didn’t stop the Flemish brute from wanting to gut him personally.

“Next time, dog!” he said, stepping aside. Sebastien spurred his mount on suddenly, splashing mud in his haste. Some splattered Huyl who growled. “It’ll keep you son of a pig,” he muttered to himself motioning the others to return to their posts. He grabbed a chunk of mud that had stuck to his jerkin and hurled it forcibly aside. “I hate this stinkin’ mud hole,” he said to no one in particular.

Sebastien, meanwhile, rode along the well-known trail. Here and there, offshoots led into varying areas of intensified gloom; they were trails to the little encampments that filled this dark wood. It was late afternoon, and darkness was already descending. Soon it would be pitch dark. The trail continued to wind like a snake; once, it dipped and Sebastien found himself crossing a tiny babbling brook. He would normally pause to taste its sweet waters. He raced on knowing he didn’t have too far to go. The clearing came on him as suddenly as the fading light suddenly changed into an afternoon glow. In the clearing, the size of a large tilled field, sat the stone cabin. Around it were milling several armed men. Off, towards the eastern side, were roped off horses, peacefully grazing. He urged his horse on.

“Whoa there, Seb,” said one of the armed men. It was Ragnor, Falwin’s chief lieutenant. The blond Scandinavian looked like some gentle giant without his weapons. Tall, broad shouldered, with a broad face that bore its knotted beard well. His golden hair was also knotted and draped in twin tails over his deep chest. He looked like someone's favourite uncle from the northern wastelands.

“What’s the hurry then? Maryann nagging you to marry her again?”

Sebastien dismounted quickly, almost falling over. Ragnor easily stopped him with one hand. Sebastien felt the strength of the warrior and was glad for a brief moment he was there. Somehow, that gesture seemed to calm him down slightly.

“We have to leave, Ragnor. They’re coming!”

Ragnor’s look was at first bewildered. “What? Who’s coming?”

Sebastien muttered something before bursting out louder, “The enemy will be here on the morrow. They know we're here.”

His hasty speech was attracting a small crowd. The door suddenly opened and Captain Falwin himself appeared. He was nibbling on an apple.

“What’s going on, Ragnor?”

Ragnor turned to explain. Sebastien forced himself beside, looking to speak. But Ragnor’s arm now gripped his arm. And it was tight, enough to make the young man wince in stifled pain.

Falwin looked at Sebastien. He signalled for the scout to approach. Then he turned and went back inside. Ragnor bawled to the gathering. “Get thee lost, you sorry sons of Thlefol. Nothing to see here. It'll be stand to soon.” The gathering quickly dispersed. One didn’t want to be on the end of Ragnor cuffing. For one thing, it was often fatal. And secondly, the order was never repeated.

Sebastien meanwhile entered the gloom of the hideout. Falwin was sitting casually on the table as if it was a bench. He was still chewing his apple. Sebastien noticed he was even eating the core.

“Right, young Seb. What’s got you all in a panic? I thought I sent into the village to scout for news. Did Maryann give you a tongue lashing or something?”

Sebastien blushed a little. It seemed everyone knew about him and Maryann, the local wench at the inn. “Yes, Captain. You did at that. And I got me some news alright.”
========================================================
Scenario 9 Preparations

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Table map showing deployments. The remainder of Francis' retinue are off-table edge (right side). They will appear from Turn 2 onwards. That force is the Hammer component. Francis, sitting around the hamlet is the Anvil. And the crossbows (left side of map) is the backstop force. Falwin, one of the few remaining originals from this series of solo campaigns, is in his hideout location. Can he make it in time or will he be caught in his hideout. Will find out today.

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Table viewed from the "eastern" edge.

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View of Cibunarn and Falwin's hideout.

This post has been edited by b20f08: Aug 4 2018, 05:55 AM


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 4 2018, 04:29 AM
Post #68


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Second game for today will be a smaller table. Scenario 10 (Sortie) is one of my invented scenarios. Lady Alice of Morloss has suddenly got the "warrees". Attaching herself to her surprised retinue, she allows Oltho to lead the approach to the enemy's camp where they are relaxing for the approaching night.

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Made a few minor changes to the original map for this table which is four foot by four foot. Deliberately done so I can play two games consecutively in one day.

Alice of Morloss:
  • Mounted men-at-arms (knights) led by Oltho
  • Mounted serjeants led by Yvaine
  • Foot serjeant unit #1 led by Amiery, Yvaine's twin brother
  • Foot serjeant unit #2 led by the stout and taciturn Baldwin of Scheliwigur
  • Lombard crossbows (with pavises). Giovante commands these mercenaries
Ulfgar Harlfsen:
  • Ulgar and his mounted escort of Sword Brothers
  • Mounted serjeants with crossbows
  • Three (3) units of Foot yoemen armed with javelins (light infantry)
  • Unit of hired local archers
Game conditions are quite simple: Alice must prevent Ulfgar from reaching his horses by attacking hard and fast with her force. It takes an activation for Ulfgar’s mounted troops (both men-at-arms and serjeants) to reach the horses, corralled to the rear in a fenced enclosure. It takes a further activation to saddle and mount up. If contacted whilst dismounted, the mounted men-at-arms fights as foot men-at-arms; the mounted serjeants fight as foot serjeants when attacked They cannot use the schiltron ability. Alice can prevent this by a couple of ways - attack the corral and spook the horses (1), or capture as many of the horses herself and abscond with them (2), or she could attack Ulfgar while he is dismounted (a challenge would go down well although she may have to rely on her smarts to defeat the veteran knight (3). There are others, but for now, these will suffice. armata_PDT_34.gif
Batrep to follow. Cheers.

This post has been edited by b20f08: Aug 4 2018, 04:46 AM


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 5 2018, 03:13 AM
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Scenario 9: Hammer and Anvil: Part One

Paper! Rock! Scissors!
This scenario played out differently from an earlier incarnation. The Flemish retinue of Falwin van Eebacht was holed up not far from the hamlet of Cibunarn. Ansard de Beuthmont had despatched Francis of Lorraine to handle this pest any way you see fit. Just get rid of the problem! Francis, a newcomer to the de Beuthmont clan, was keen to impress. He had scoured the countryside and pinpointed the raider’s location. Accordingly he had despatched his foot soldiers to outflank and attack the Flemish from the rear, driving them out to himself waiting near Cibunarn with his mounted knights. Further to his rear, a second force, crossbowmen, were positioned to act as a backstop should the Flemish skirt round and make for the north-western exit (the most logical route given it is the quickest way back to Saxanission territory). Being in Cibunarn enabled Francis to watch and control the crossroads. His arrival the previous evening had yielded a wealth of information, and his interrogators were able to extract much detail about their opponents.
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Batrep
Deployment

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Looking west from behind Falwin’s hideout – a shack in a clearing in a thick dense woodland with broken, uneven ground surrounding the location. A natural defensive position if ever there was one. Sure, there is only one way (and out), but it offers a haven from prying eyes.

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Looking down from that high ground towards the crossroads where Francis and his knights guard the crossroads. Further back — to far back to be of any real use, as they quickly learned — is a unit of crossbowmen.
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Opening Moves

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Being the attacker, Falwin enjoyed activating first. And from the start, he was able to advance towards the crossroads with most of his foot soldiers, either via the trail or through the woods and rough ground beyond the treeline.

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Of course, Francis made a beeline for the first unit to come downhill, a unit of crossbows.

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Turn 2 would be the signal for Francis’ foot (the Hammer) to arrive on the table in the rear of Falwin. The activations were a big success; in fact, all of Francis’ units activated in Turn so were able to advance themselves. But not before the crossbow unit (facing Francis) opened fire and fell one of the knights.

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Given the proximity of Francis and his knightly escort service, one of the Flemish foot serjeants units chose to form line (or schiltron) to better receive an expected sudden assault. Even though the target was obviously the missile men, anything can happen when mounted tin cans are thundering nearby. To highlight forming line I’ve indicated in the photo by a straight line and little arm beneath (a flat T if you can see it). The unit behind the crossbows opts to skirt around their comrades to better place themselves to receive what was expected. Likewise, Falwin and his mounted serjeants escort rode out from the clearing intending to hit the road and better command the situation.

The two Flemish crossbow units are able to fire upon Francis’ approach. One unit scores zilch while the other one knocks over another knight. Is it Francis? Nope. He lives. Meanwhile, the enemy foot unit closest to Falwin activates and stumbles through the rough ground. If they can hit Falwin early on, perhaps they can rattle the long-lived commander.

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The effects of effective missile fire force Francis to retire from his planned assault.

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An overview of the entire battlefield. In the foreground, both “Hammer” units are slowly crossing the rough ground.

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Suddenly, disaster strikes. Francis is felled by a bolt (many claim credit but no one really knows). He is killed instantly. His loss forces a retinue-wide courage test. And they all pass the test first time. Incroyable, as they might say.

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Francis’ demise unleashes a little charge by the remnants of his escort, who now down to half strength. Can they exact revenge for the loss of their leader? Is it Monday yet?

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Unfortunately, no is the answer. In a strange twist, the knights’ earlier losses contribute to their failing the courage test. Even though they won the contest with the frightened missile men, the knights failed to rally and retire battered. The missile men do rally and therefore stand their ground. Why? Because I said so!

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Back in the clearing, drama is hotting up. One of the “Hammer” units has reached the edge of the clearing and is contemplating the Flemish foot standing in line being exhorted by a large Scandinavian type giant. In the brief lull, some enterprising fellow has raced forward into the space between combatants and chalked the question mark.

Part Two next

This post has been edited by b20f08: Aug 5 2018, 03:13 AM


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 5 2018, 03:23 AM
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Part Two

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To the immediate right, their fellow “Hammer” unit is approaching Falwin and his escort. Will they meet and greet or shake and break?

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The same seems to be happening out in the open sloping ground. Will the knights do what most knights tend to do when they see daylight?

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As if to inspire the pairing, the Flemish missile troops continually pepper them with love notes and offerings of free vacation in the Alps or somewhere else equally exotic if only they would quit the field. One of them is even weighted down so much by the love bolts that he keels over and plays possum.

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At the last moment, Falwin and his escort become aware of a menacing presence. They charge the enemy foot soldiers and push them back easily enough. It seems meet and greet is not the menu for today. Well, shake and break it is.

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The lone surviving knight, going by the name of Yellow Submarine, makes up his mind by avoiding the crossbows and tackles the Flemish serjeants nearby. It proves to be a final fatal mistake.

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The second serjeant unit, seeing that to cross the open ground and smash into a well formed cohesive line of determined bad men, might not be the best way to start a campaign, chose to slide around the back of the hut. Their motivation? Falwin’s escort. A much more easier target on the whole, so they thought.

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Here we note two separate contacts. The Flemish foot around the hut, seeing all their carefully laid plans arrive at nowhere, chose to charge their opponents. Led by that big blond giant, they roared and howled their way straight into a hiding. Not for nothing are these “Hammer” units known as Expert Foot Serjeants. Attack now 4+ means they are equal parity with foot serjeants who are in a defensive posture (also 4+). Take that, the de Beuthmont crowd jeered as the Flemish force retreat.

The other combat saw Falwin beaten as he tried to grab the initiative. It was a pretty bad beating up too as he lost three figures. That’s half his unit strength. What were you thinking Falwin? Eating apple give you gas, brother?

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The two “Hammer” units seize the initiative and crowd in on a now-pummelled Falwin and his diminishing escort. He is barely given time to rally as he is hit from the flank.

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And just like that, it’s sayonara Mr. Chips. But there is a silver lining in this hemmy story: Falwin escapes with the survivors. They make it back to their homebase, just in time for the football season to commence. 🙂

The loss of Falwin throws his entire retinue into a morale test. And like their opponents, every unit passes with continuing flying colours. A further check to see if any of the characters from the recent narrative writ a couple of days ago reveals that Sebastien fails to survive. Huyl? No one knows what happens to the bully. Honest!

Having achieved their objective against the enemy commander, the two “Hammer” units (now known as Jack and Jill) turn their attention to the rest of the Flemish retinue. It’s an uphill to-do as the Flemish outnumber them almost 2 to 1. Not good odds. Or great odds. Or even fantastic odds….

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But knocking over the enemy leader is only the first step. The next step is knocking over the rest without yourself getting knocked over. And for one unit, aka Jack, the pail has been knocked over.

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Another timely overview.

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Jack, and Jill, try to fetch the pail back. But the Flemish have hold of it now, and refuse to return it.

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Jack, gets too close to one of the Flemish crossbow units. Effectively shouting “pew pew, pew pew..” as they shot at them, Jack is forced to re-evaluate the meaning of stupidity while they retire towards the shack. Perhaps in considering this deeply philosophical question, they ignored the possibility of barricading themselves into the shack and holding out. They had the arms…and the legs…and the bodies. A great opportunity lost in the heat of the moment.

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It is apparent that the main action is happening in the clearing, and around it. The rest of the Flemish (out in the open rough ground) are milling about deciding whether it is Monday or has daylight saving kicked in and it’s Wednesday. But that topic is only one; there are countless. Meanwhile nothing is happening to help out the lone Foot Serjeant unit (under Ragnor) battling all alone unaided. The shoe is on the other foot, so Jill yelled to Jack!

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Ragnor bellows something northern and incomprehensible (except to another northerner). His unit manages to repel the enemy foot (Jill). Meanwhile, behind him, the remnants of Jack are fleeing towards respite.

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A quick overview of the situation as it currently stands. Not good for Jack or Jill. The Cookie Monster (crossbows) is finally nearing Checkpoint Crossroads. The main Flemish force (apart from Ragnor’s dwindling command) are quite fresh, so much so that standing upwind is causing added consternation to the troops of Jack. Jill’s lot are back among the trees so are temporarily spared the anguish. Pee…yew!

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Around this time, it became obvious the scenario had failed to direct the outcome sought. Both commanders were gone, relatively early in the game. Those remaining were basically slugging it out to the death. What is the point, one might ask, if the parameters of the scenario has changed?

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The game is nearly over. The arrival of the Cookie Monster unit offers a brief interlude of delight (as opposed to the slugfest happening around the hideout).

Part 3 next


--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 5 2018, 03:32 AM
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Part 3

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Moments of the last stand of Jack. Constant losses, retreating battered, make recovery difficult. All the good rolls of the dice have long departed. Now all that’s left are the low die scores and a chance to go out in a blaze of cowardice (pun unintentional).

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Even humour is being interjected into these images, as if to say, “we’re done. Can we go home? Please?!”

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This becomes a race for the Cookie Monster. And I’m pretty sure, the beast is fairly large and extremely slow (except when eating cookies). In the foreground, Jack has finally disappeared off the table after being routed one time too many. All that’s left is Jill. Being the tough nut that she is, Ragnor prepares for the final battle. He begins his deathsong in earnest only for it to abruptly cease as someone knocks him unconscious with a plough!

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Now we are getting morbid here. Dead figures lie where they have fallen. Sad.

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With Ragnor snoring away, his unit performs exceptionally well. They stand firm against Jill’s desperate assault. Someone yells, “Mr Whippy!” It has the desired effect. Everyone packs up and heads off for a double cone with flake and cherry. Mmm.

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If you want to know how far crossbowmen can go when there is no firing for two turns, here is the proof.

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Gory bits. Please look away!

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Flemish gory bits!

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Game Over. The Flemish, by virtue of being the last force standing intact, have somehow turned this scenario on its head, and won it. They have smashed both the Hammer and the Anvil. And for good measure, the Cookie Monster as well. They have knocked off the opposing enemy commander making this victory one of the most complete ever in this campaign of upsets.
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Boasts

Boasts are always made in Lion Rampant. Whether they eventuate depends on the game played. Does it conform to these minor objectives? How much difference between them and victory objectives? And so on. Anyway, for this game, the following were made:

Falwin van Eebacht – My own sword will not be drawn (3 Glory)
Francis of Lorraine – My retinue will stand firm (3 Glory)

Did they eventuate? No. So both will have a negative score on these.
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Victory

Attacker scores 5 Glory for his units exiting.
Defender scores 1 Glory for routing the Mounted Serjeants

Outcome:
Falwin: 5-1=4 Glory points attained
Francis: 1-1=0 Glory points attained
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Commentary

An interesting game and outcome. Expected to run similar to one played two years ago when I ran Edmund Blakudder against one of the Bassilian commanders. Edmund was the Defender. He failed in stopping the Bassilian from escaping, like this game. The only difference was the game was more fluid with it becoming a sort of running battle until the stream crossing when things got congested. Here, everything was concentrated around the hideout. The quick entry by the “Hammer” units – two expert units of Foot Serjeants (Jack and Jill) meant that the escaping Flemish were fighting fairly early on.

Once again, the activations played their part in dictating how the game seemingly unfolded. Several turns went with no activations whatsoever. Where one side activated to the detriment of the other was also spaced equally throughout, and proved to be the most form. Where all parties were activated was still a rare thing. But despite this, the game flowed well. The fighting part of the game ended when the last unit of Francis’ retinue was expelled from the game. The non-event movement part (exiting) was not played out for obvious reason.

The loss of both commanders (one killed, one MIA – only to reappear several weeks later) was an interesting factor. That both sides were able to put that loss aside and operate unabated was interesting.

The game began late afternoon (slept through most of the morning) and ended five hours later. Of that five hours, probably two hours was taken up with deploying, mucking about, having dinner. So, all up, this solo game went for just over three hours.
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© 2018 L. Tafa. Photos, captions on photos, and commentary (batrep) by author. For everything, there’s Lion Rampant, a very funny and fun skirmish game set in the broad Medieval period.
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--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 6 2018, 05:00 AM
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Scenario 10: Sortie

Here is another scenario-related narrative. Cheers.

The Battle

The sortie was seemingly going according to plan. Alice looked over to where the ruckus was most noisiest. She saw steel glinting in the uncontrolled fires that had sprung up here and there. The sun had long disappeared yet the night did not yet fully command the velvety canopy overhead. She dared a glance, trying to tear herself away from the commotion happening in front of her. Amiery was directly ahead with his foot soldiers, taking on all-comers. Their duel with the Livonian yoemanry seesawed. The cries and screams were frightening if they weren’t also exciting in a way.

“Lady, I think we should withdraw.” She could hardly make out the face. The voice she vaguely knew. The name momentarily eluded her. Was it Samion? Simon? Simeon?

“Milady,” another voice spoke. “Samoyan is correct. The enemy javelins have been effective, curse their mangy hides. If we linger here any longer, you run the risk of being hurt.”

“Alright, Pohtus. I wish to view how Oltho fares. Can we reach him?”

“Nay, milady, Pohtus said. “It is extremely perilous. I fear we may be losing the fight there. Come, we must leave.”

She acquiesced. It was a foolish notion, but one she felt she had to make under the circumstance. These men were dying in her name. It drove home the awful fact that with position comes responsibility, something she hadn’t quite come to terms with. Even when recently married.

“Where is Yvaine?” she suddenly said.

“He is over yonder, watching how it fares with his brother.”

Alice said nothing but nodded. She turned her horse. As she did so, she suddenly spotted a familiar banner. Even with the dim light, there was enough of a firelit glow that she easily recognised the black heart of her rival. “There!” she pointed excitedly. “He is there! See!”

“Tis so, milady,” Pohtus answered. He shouted to Yvaine up ahead. Yvaine turned at his name being called. Pohtus vigorously gestured in the direction of the flapping banner, now prominent to those on the small rise. Yvaine turned, paused for a moment. Then he roared mightily. His horse sprang almost into the air as it felt the spurs in its flanks. It was already halfway towards its intended target before Alice and the others could respond.

As if watching some amazing scene play out in slow motion, everyone’s gaze was fixed on the young commander, on his strider, racing to intercept Lord Ulfgar of Vindelgross. It seemed too that anyone within earshot of Yvaine’s mighty bellow was momentarily distracted as the young swordsman charged the Baltic nobleman.

Ulfgar was now aware of the challenge. His dark face seemed to swell, so it looked to Alice, as if awakening from some deep slumber. With casual ease, Ulfgar turned his mount to face the charging Yvaine, sword held high for a killing blow. It seemed like he was waiting, measuring his moment with casual, almost disdainful aplomb.

“What is he waiting for. Yvaine has the momentum on him. If he doesn’t countercharge, he is done for,” exclaimed Pohtus. A few others muttered in agreement. Alice said nothing, transfixed by the sight.

Yvaine’s beast was now in full stride for the charge. Twenty yards. Still Ulfgar sat motionless. Apart from making a couple of hefty swipes with his long battle axe, he seemed to look bored. What folly, Alice said to herself. The insolence of the man.

Ten yards. Ulfgar suddenly motioned his horse to respond. It did. At a walk. Alice now forgot herself and nudged her horse closer to get a better view. Her escort followed in kind.

Five yards out, Ulfgar began to weave left and right. The manoeuvre seemed to puzzle her, as it did the others, some of whom openly commented. Yvaine had raised himself so that he looked to be standing, arm poised high ready to deliver the decisive blow. Momentum was on his side. If it were not Ulfgar but some other, the sight would have been devastatingly entrancing. But it was Ulfgar and he suddenly spurred his mount just as Yvaine began the downward swing of his sword. The black steed that Ulfgar’s seemed to know exactly what it was doing at its master’s bidding. It slammed into the side of Yvaine’s charger, glancing it. In so doing it tipped the balance and momentum just enough for Yvaine’s coup de grace to slice nothing but the face of Ulfgar’s raised shield.

The clash of steel on shield was loud enough for others to hear and glance over. Yvaine’s momentum had easily sent him past Ulfgar who had waited till the moment was right to jump inside the intended blow easily. While his shield met and redirected that awesome momentum, he had jabbed with his battle axe, the tip of which was a spike. And it found its target very easily.

Yvaine’s face seemed to wince, as if catching his breath was an effort. He reined in his charger, now diverted from its original course by the black steed. He wheeled smoothly enough and began to race back towards his opponent who was also wheeling about. Yvaine’s face seem to boil over; the pulsating red rage came upon almost instantly. He roared something and kicked his spurs violently. His charger whinnied and again kicked itself into movement. Anything to avoid the sudden jabbing in her sides. To a casual observer, Yvaine looked to be some extreme, like a whirlwind. Ulfgar watched in calm silence.

Yvaine’s rage consumed him now as he quickly closed the distance. This would be a slug match now. He held his sword towards his opponent, ready to deflect any swipes he was expecting. But then Ulfgar suddenly spurred his horse forward. At the same time, he hurled his battle axe at Yvaine’s charger. Yvaine twisted at the reins, hoping the charger would evade the spinning blade. The barding seemed to catch a part of that pass. But Yvaine didn’t see the second axe also coming his way. He cried out. In time he was able to deflect the flung weapon. By then Ulfgar was on him.

The sword bite was powerful enough. The blade was extremely sharp, sharp enough to cut through the outer mail and into the hardened leather scales. Yvaine winced as the blade caught him just below his left arm. As he reacted, pulling away, he noticed Ulfgar’s face. It was a look of calm indifference, as if he was performing a mundane chore. The dark eyes seemed unconcerned by who he was. It had probably seen countless other so-called swordsmen in his long years of warring. This youngling would be no different.

And that is what seemed to wound Yvaine most of all, that his death (he knew he was dying now), was nothing more than a function. He seemed to cry out then. “Oh brother. Fare well,” he muttered as he fell to the ground. His eyes were dead by the time he had settled on the ground.

Alice looked shocked at what she was seeing. The others were also silent. Around them, the noise of the battle seemed to rage and ruin. But at that particular moment in time, she sighed. And a tear washed down her dirty face.

“Come, milady, we must be away before he spots you.” It was Pohtus. She made to stop him from grabbing her lead rein but then her eyes travelled back to where Yvaine now lay. His body was now obscured by the fighting. The banner had disappeared now. She looked up and noticed the night sky. It was clear and sparkling so beautifully. She sighed again. And said nothing.
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Batrep

Some batrep pics.
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Link to full batrep here. Cheers.
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POST EDIT: 8 AUG 2018

The final two scenarios will be played out this weekend. The race for best retinue remains close; any one of the two scenarios might throw up a big winner - Wult von Drimmerstein is a 12 while Auron de Saxanisson is an 11. Will such an outcome affect the final standings in the search for the winningest faction this season? It may: we will have to wait and see, eh. Cheers.
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POST EDIT: 9 AUG 2018

Scenario 11: Bloodbath
Wult von Drimmerstein (12) (Teutonic)
2 units of Mounted Men-at-Arms
1 unit of Mounted serjeants with crossbows
1 unit of Foot serjeants
1 unit of Crossbowmen
Total = 24 points

Ludo du Boitur (9) (French)
2 units of Mounted Men-at-Arms
1 unit of Mounted serjeants
1 unit of Foot serjeants
1 unit of Crossbowmen
Total = 24 points
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Scenario 12: Ambush!

While both retinues are identical in composition, being French, the disparity in leadership skill (Auron is rated 12 while Ansard is a 6!) may prove telling when determining outcome. However, as has been seen in previous scenarios, anything goes when rolling dice.
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EDIT POST: 11 AUGUST 2018 AM

Prepped tables last night for today's exciting finale to a long season. Cheers.

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Table set for the Bloodbath scenario between von Drimmerstein and du Boitur.

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Scenario 12: Ambush Sprung! Final game for the season. Result by either side will determine the winning faction.
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EDIT POST: 11 AUGUST 2018 AM

Scenario 11 Narrative
The wind whipped a howler that evening as Ralf and Polt stood at their post along the broken stone. The moonlight skittered as the clouds kept masking it.

"Ain't nothing stirring tonight, Ralf," Polt said loudly after a while. The road bent before them coming up from the village down in the valley, skirting the hill behind them before resuming its way along the plateau. He glanced behind him; flickering shadows from the camp fire danced against the steep slope.

Ralf, of similar age, said nothing in reply. The veteran was trying to stay warm against that icy wind. The Caldian hunched his shoulders while pulling his hood tighter around his head. Lucky his saucer helm with its wide brim was heavy enough to keep the hood from flapping free thereby exposing his thin head. He stomped the soft yielding ground. The pair were standing behind the chest-high stone wall that protected them from the worst effect of that night wind racing up from the valley. He muttered a curse at his luck, and he especially cursed his leader, the lazy Sanotsi.

He felt a nudge on his right side. He turned."What!"

Polt was signalling he had to make a call to nature. Ralf scowled his face. He didn't mind Polt in more jovial time but he was distracted right now. He was still peeved about drawing the early morning shift by the time honoured means of drawing the short straw; at least Polt was acceptable company. Polt shrugged his shoulders when Ralf didn't respond before wandering off to some rocks. Ralf resumed his focus on the road, which was just a faint lightening of darkness against a much broader and widespread blanket of darkness. Moments later, he felt another nudge. What now!

"I'm back," Polt indicated. Ralf turned away and cupped his hands blowing warmth into them. Going to be a cold day in hell today. Polt pulled out small gourd that served as a canteen. Ralf shook his head when he saw this act. Too cold for drinking. He refused the offering. But Polt persisted flashing a toothy grin in the sudden moonlight. Ralf reluctantly accepted the gourd and took a cautious sip. The fiery taste hit him almost immediately. He felt the warmth fire up his innards. His sourness seemed to mellow suddenly. He took another, more generous, sip. When handed it back to Polt, his fingers no longer ached painfully. He even broke a smile on his windswept face.
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This post has been edited by b20f08: Aug 11 2018, 08:28 AM


--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 12 2018, 12:09 AM
Post #73


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Scenario 11: Bloodbath!

Batrep
Not much to say except this one was short and sweet. Played on the smaller four by three board, it was a straight-out slugfest. The Livonian retinue of Wult von Drimmerstein (Roger to his closest friends) began their planned assault by advancing on the French flanks - foot serjeants to the stone wall on the left, and von Drimmerstein (with his escort of mounted knights) down the road at the French foot. While the Livonian foot was easily defeated by withering fire by the French crossroads, von Drimmerstein won easily against the French foot. In a series of moves that resembled a waltz, the Livonians "danced" down the road with their opponents. Help was not forthcoming because du Boitur was craftily distracted by the Livonian mounted whose choreographed moves were step-step-slide right-back one.

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Before I neglect, the challenge was done in Turn Two when du Boitur dared von Drimmerstein to call him coward to his face. von Drimmerstein did, calling him coward repeatedly. Their fight was short and sweet however. It ended a draw!

The French foot, beaten back three times now, chose to disappear before it became a fourth time. In the centre, the Livonian 2nd knight unit was holding its own against the French by repelling a whopping charge downhill by the French mounted. The French 2nd knight unit was pushed back by the Livonian crossbows who seemed to have their number (snake eyes I believe).

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All the action began to take place in the centre. du Boitur routed after being attacked both in his rear and front. Things deteriorated for the French thereafter. Even though they managed to wipe out the Livonian 2nd knight unit, they lost in succession the French 2nd knight unit and the mounted. The only formed and active unit left, the French crossbow, were perhaps saved by their isolation out on the left flank. The quietly disappeared without saying goodbye.

Game won by the Livonians who scored seven Glory points. The French scored zero. Zilch. Nought. Nada. Nyet. Bugger all!

The outcome does affect the Winningest Faction, pushing the Livonians out into top spot. But the Orossians have an opportunity to grab victory should they win against the Saxanissons.


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"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 13 2018, 02:26 AM
Post #74


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A very good finale to a long season. Things always pick up just as it's time to shut shop. And so it was tonight with the final game deciding placing in the Best (or winningest) Faction for Season 3. Some game shots. Full batrep on blogsite. Full campaign table and results in Issue #16 August 2018 of Quarterstaff. Cheers. See you in Season 4: A Spring Renewal.

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The Challenge between both faction leaders - Ansard de Beuthmont and Auron de Saxanisson
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One of the better de Beuthmont units - the deadly crossbows
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The best and fairest on ground was the lone knight who took part in the defeats of the Saxanisson van and then took on Auron and his remaining escort lone-handed. Talk about victorious!
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--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
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b20f08
post Aug 16 2018, 11:25 PM
Post #75


Ten Guitars
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Group: Support Veteran
Posts: 2,911
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From: Clear Mountain
Member No.: 6,935



While readying ourselves for another busy month of historical venture in September - another large scale FoGN game, further adventures with Canvas Eagles, and playtesting scenarios in Rapid Fire 2 to name three such outings - I thought to pull out my long ignored naval stuff in order to "air them out a bit, maybe dip them in the waters of enthusiasm again?"

For solo gaming, I'm still forging ahead with refighting the Battle of the Coral Sea using a hybrid collection of 1:3000 ships, 1:700 aircraft, General Quarters III rules (particularly their naval-air ops section), and a wonderful battle map by Metro East Gaming (US) who campaigned this action many years ago quite successfully. As my effort will be solo, I've had to modify things a little. But to "wet my whistle", so to speak, I pulled out Kiss Me Hardy, a fun game of Nap naval action using my 1:2400 Old Glory figures. I say "wet" because I found the waters a little to frigid for my liking and put warm socks back on after drying off my dainties. Anyway, I wasn't in a frame of mind to play casual so I abandoned the game after a few turns. Still sitting on the table. Will finish it later this week before I plonk down my 1:3000 naval and go "putt, putt" while sipping some nice Australian white wines. armata_PDT_34.gif

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The table. The Four Sisters islet group.

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Part of the British vanguard. The 74-gun (3rd rater) Spartiate and the 98-gun Temeraire. In van of Temeraire (out of picture) is the 74-gun Revenge and the lead vessel, the 64-gun Polyphemus.

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French-Spanish patrol. The Spanish San Justo bringing up the rear. Ahead are the Intrepide and Scipion (Argonaute is leading the patrol). All ships are 74-guns.

This post has been edited by b20f08: Aug 16 2018, 11:29 PM


--------------------
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing!" for Spike Milligan & Dave Chapelle & Charles Bukowski
"Life without regrets is no life at all" Yip Man
"If you lack technique you lose the freedom to create" Paco de Lucia
User is offlineProfile CardPM
Go to the top of the page
+Quote Post

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