Emiricol
Registered User
In a couple of minutes, more archers arrived, and after they had taken a position atop the wall, the gate was opened enough for six armed men to come out. One, at the fore, seemed to carry himself with authority.
"Well then. Refugees usually flee west, not east. I am told you have some wild tale of hearing tree spirits and doing the bidding of fantastical creatures.
"I should warn you, claiming to come from the Snow Ghosts will not earn you friends here. Too long have they stolen our children, slaughtered our cows, made madmen of fathers, brothers, sons. And that, stranger, is only if the tales of their existance are even true.
"So then. We've dealt with one unnatural terror in the past moon, and won't hesitate to do it again if you are bewitched. Having said that, do you still wish to come in, refugee? It will cost you. Nothing is free, and we have little enough for ourselves."
His tone was even and controlled, possibly even friendly - but the hard line of his eyes and set of his jaw showed otherwise.
Carith stared at the man and slowly began to speak with some effort at self control, " We are no refugees sir, and I assure you that for every harm the Snow Ghosts have done to you they have inflicted a hundred times worse upon those allied with the Shadow. But I did not come here to speak of elves, I came to offer my blade and bow to men in need of all the help they can get."
Carith kept his glare at the man direct and unapologetic, standing as tall as he could muster and letting his eyes and his voice echo the fire in his heart. If this is the man who leads them they are already dead. These are just like the soldiers from my youth, posturing and hot wind, but have any of his men seen real battle? Or was their little assault on the orcs their first taste of real battle? Regardless, they are lost in superstition and fear... These men can not fight the Shadow as they are, the orcs and their foul master will run them down with out much effort if these men are as fearful of them as they are of the Snow Ghosts. Maybe this is all a lost cause for us after all...
Carith unshouldered his pack roughly and spoke again. "We have little to offer that would be of aid to your village. A pair of mead bottles to warm your men's spirits and a few pounds of bagged salt to help your stores of food." Carith removed the items from his pack and held them to the man before him, waiting to see if that paltry sum might barter them into the village.
The man stared right back into Carith's eyes, sizing up the man behind them perhaps. After a long, tense moment he seemed to relax a little, unconsciously stepping back from Carith's unwavering gaze.
"Well then. We can certainly use another few blades. We lost four men when we attacked the Legate and his thirty or so orcs, four men we could ill afford to lose."
His gaze then traveled quickly over each of the new arrivals appraisingly. "That'll be enough to get you in. My name is Hargeld, the leader of these men. We've been raiding up and down the Erunsi-Northlands border for months. Come inside, let us speak in a warm hall."
Carith and "his crew" were led into what were no doubt once the chambers of the Legate, then on into the great hall, and seated along a long wooden table that traveled much of the length of the large room. A bitter-smelling tea, popular in the North because the herb responsible had no qualities that would bring the wrath of Shadow, was placed before the newcomers along with a bit of bread. Nearby a fire burned, warming the room from the still-cold spring air outside.
Hargeld, the apparent leader of this band, sat at the head of the table. Spread before him were charts, a map and a ledger, evidence that he did much of his work there.
"Tell me more of yourselves. And of the skills you bring to the table. And of this odd vision I heard tell of." He smiled, all the tension of meeting new people now gone though he still seemed guarded. Still strangers, after all, even if they seemed promising.
Carith took a generous bite of bread and then slowly drank some of the bitter tea, a welcome reminder of earlier, more comfortable days. As he did so he glanced as best he could at the papers on the table, hoping to find something of interest, something new, written upon them."I am Carith, and these are Thrayn, Dornhild and Rongald." Carith gestured to each man in turn and then took another drink of the bitter tea.
Carith decided that, between their current position and what he himself knew of them, they could be trusted for now - and that honesty might make them more useful for later.
"We are all experienced warriors, having slain several orc patrols just on our trip to your village, and we have the tusks to prove it if you don't believe it. Beyond that, things become more difficult to explain. I have somewhat of a natrual talent for the forbitten sorcery," Carith said, lowering his voice conspiratorially at the last, probably without even thinking about it much. Habit. "And I have recently apprenticed myself to a powerful Elven sorcerer. It is from his training that I gained access to the ancient magic of the Elves, and was granted a vision by the forest of Erethor itself. I saw your village and piles of burning orcs, just as it is now, but I also saw what was to come. Another Legate marches for this place, his standard gleaming in the moonlight and showing a raptor's talons clutching a green sphere marked with red lines. His army comes to this place, and many men die. In the end the Legate is dead, but so too may be any hope of life in this village. Much is uncertain even now."
Carith took another bite of bread and finished off the last of his tea. "We are here to do two things, make sure that foul servant of the Shadow meets his end here, and to save as many of the people of this village as we can. I understand you may be hesitant to accept our help, the help of strangers, and I will respect your choice if you tell us to leave - but in this hour of darkness we are the only ones who will be coming to your aid, so take the help that is offered to you even if you do not like the source."
Hargeld remained quiet and unreadable as Carith explained their reasons for coming to Rode Pijler. A slight tightening around his eyes and lips gave away his tension at mention of Elves, but he remained calm, considering every word of Carith with great care. There was a long, almost awkward moment of silence afterwards, with a growing tension in the air, but just as Carith sensed Dornhild tensing up to preempt any ambush, the rebel leader spoke and his voice was calm, very even, almost monotone. Dornhild stayed motionless, but ready.
Hargeld nodded. "These tales are fantastical, and yet, what you say about your vision is to my knowledge truth. There was a battle here, a slaughter really - although the Legate was difficult to take down, he said with a flash of sorrow that belied how much an understatement that was.
"And, in fact, a small army does march toward Rode Pijler, I learnt recently. They are the forces of Warrior Legate Christoffel, a rival of the former Legate ruler of this area. His intent is to raze the village, blaming the rebellion. If he has learnt of his rival's demise it hasn't altered his course. I imagine he will string up a few humans and claim them as rebels, thus avenging the Shadow's shame, when he finds out - the fall of this garrison won't change his plans much.
"If he succeeds, this village will be no more, and Christoffel will be given even more power and authority, maybe even being promoted to the front lines of the fight against the Snow Ghosts of the deadly woods."
One of the men beside Hargeld turned red, stepping forward to proclaim Hargeld a fool to believe in the tales of Fey, but Hargeld held his ground, hand lightly resting meaningfully upon his dagger hilt. Calmly, he instructed the Dorn to step back, then smiled when the latter had, finally, done as he was instructed. Apparently the Dorn was rude, not brave.
"Make no mistake, men. The Elves are in fact real. Whether they truly stole babies and cows to sacrifice to their demon queen, I know not. I do, however, know that they are real. They do fight. They hold back the Shadow where Men have failed. Anything we can do to destabilize Izrador's ability to get organized against the Fey of the north, the better on all of us. So pull your head out and get yourself together, man."
Somewhat embarrassed by this display before strangers, Hargeld coughed and then apologized. "Not all of us have seen an Elf, nor do my men know much about the great Human rebel leader, a man of greatness in mind and destiny, who lashes out against shadow from the grace and protection of the Elves. If I sound in awe of him, it is because I am. I have seen Fey, and I do know of such a Man.
"And so, I am prepared to believe you. Your description of Christoffel's standard is accurate, though I pray your vision was a warning and not writ in stone. We would be honored to have you by our side in the coming battle, friends."
Carith nodded, very interested in the Lord riding out from the protection of the Fey territories, although he kept silent on the issue otherwise. "We will do what ever we can do aid you friend, but I will need some infromation if I am to be of much use. First, do you know how long it will be until the orcs arrive, and do we have anything close to a solid count of their numbers?"
Hargeld said very slowly, watching Carith's reactions intently, "They should arrive in about a week, leaving us very little time to finish our preparations. Our spies, who alerted us to the force in the first place, report some thirty Orcs strong, with three or so Oruk and of course that Dirnesohn, Legate Christoffel.
"For our part, we have perhaps 40 men in arms - mostly infantry, fewer than a dozen archers. We'll be more poorly equipped than they are, but I expect the many provisions we seized when we took Rode Pijler will keep the men strong and energetic. We also have a better healer than I expect them to have, since Christoffel won't likely have wasted time learning to heal magically. I believe, perhaps vainly, that I am a better leader and strategist than this Christoffel as well, having studied his past battles via reports from our spies.
"The village itself is down to about 45 other people, mostly women, children and the elderly. This doesn't include the men under arms I mentioned. Fortunately, the food is abundant. We could feed a unit twice our size with all gluttony for many months.
"A final item of interest - the red pillar for which this village is named in the foul Black Tongue. Surely you noted it on your arrival. Our fortification of it should be complete by the time they arrive. It is high enough that they can't climb easily, and we've established a pallisade that will allow us to fire directly down the sides of the pillar. Getting there, aye, there's the easy part. We discovered an ancient tunnel, from the looks of it dating back many generations. The tunnel comes right up the center of the pillar. The way in is beneath the Legate's old chambers, now our headquarters, and is broad enough for two men abreast.
"There is a problem of course. Nothing is easy, right? The problem is that it is dug through solid rock, so we can't collapse it behind us with what we have available to us - nor would we want to, since it is a way out potentially, but it would be nice to have the option. So, we have rigged the building over the entrance to burn. That will hold them back for some time, should they break our defenses here in the village."
There was a long pause.
Slowly, letting Hargeld's speech percolate into his thinking more fully, Carith nodded and then looked to the map for a few moments before finally pointing down to it.
"A good plan," Carith said reassuringly, "but if you don't mind I have a few suggestions." After recieving a permissive nod from Hargeld he motioned to several spots on the map, common paths from East towards the village. "The orcs will most likely advance from here and here. Obviously they will try to penetrate the pallisade as soon as they can, and if they do this we and everyone in this village are as good as dead. What we need to do is to restrict their movement, slow them down and get them into this zone right here where the wall curves inward by the south tower - there our archers can rain death down upon them. If we can somehow kill half their number before they reach our walls we have a much better chance."
Hargeld nodded, thinking through various plans to accomplish the difficult task. "Orcs under the whips of a Legate and his Oruk commanders will charge without fear even into certain death, and if they break through our defenses through sheer numbers, the chaos in this village will be like the greatest Pellurian storm - but not for long, for the storm will quickly tear us apart."
Carith's eyes seemed to drift off for a few moments, his mind wandering back and remembering a battle from the distant past. After a moment he regained his composure and replied to Hargeld, his tone soft and reassuring once more. "All we need is some rope or vines, some shovels and anything we can put at the bottom of a pit that might impale an Orc. Keep men working on the Pillar, but with your permission, I would like to take a few men, maybe even some of the villagers, and begin setting up some suprises for the attackers. With a bit of luck we will make Rode Pillar a name that is spoken in fear among the minions of the Shadow for years to come."
Carith wiped the stinging persperation from his brow and leaned against the simple wooden-hafted shovel in his hand. Although it was still early Spring the sun beat down on him from its mid-day height relentlessly and he had worked up quite a sweat. At least it warms the ground and makes the pits easier to dig.
After a moment to just breathe, he tossed the shovel onto a pile of fresh, loose earth and picked up his blade, moving off purposefully to examine the other defenses being constructed to his instructions. They are coming along quicker than I thought they would. But just three and a half days for them to make the town defensable? He knew what time they had would scarcely be enough. The men were raiders, and knew little of defense and almost nothing of seiges. Not that he fooled himself into believing his own body of knowledge was vast, but it had so far earned him the respect of the men. Hopefully that would be enough...
Carith stood watching the simple people dig simple but effective pits. Among those pits, by plan they lay out ropes and vines, stretched taught just inches from the ground. These will definitely slow the advance of the orcs and hopefully channel them along the path we want them to take, to a spot I hope we can more easily defend.
He watched them work and memories flooded back to him, memories of his past life as a solider, and of the last time he had led men in battle. Far away under the shade of the great trees he had fought, but there he had been the aggressor. They had tried to slow his group's assult, but they did not have the training to do so. Instead they fought with spirit, defending their homes and loved ones, before one by one to the last man they had died. In his mind the echoes and clangs, the din of battle, was fresh as memory. He and his unit slaughtered those fools in there homes like animals. Helpless people. And he had done it. He had done it because to even think of refusing was to die by the vardatch of some orc who would enjoy it entirely too much; to show weakness invited death. Back then, he was not ready to die. Had that changed now, he wondered to himself, but he found no answers.
"Well then. Refugees usually flee west, not east. I am told you have some wild tale of hearing tree spirits and doing the bidding of fantastical creatures.
"I should warn you, claiming to come from the Snow Ghosts will not earn you friends here. Too long have they stolen our children, slaughtered our cows, made madmen of fathers, brothers, sons. And that, stranger, is only if the tales of their existance are even true.
"So then. We've dealt with one unnatural terror in the past moon, and won't hesitate to do it again if you are bewitched. Having said that, do you still wish to come in, refugee? It will cost you. Nothing is free, and we have little enough for ourselves."
His tone was even and controlled, possibly even friendly - but the hard line of his eyes and set of his jaw showed otherwise.
Carith stared at the man and slowly began to speak with some effort at self control, " We are no refugees sir, and I assure you that for every harm the Snow Ghosts have done to you they have inflicted a hundred times worse upon those allied with the Shadow. But I did not come here to speak of elves, I came to offer my blade and bow to men in need of all the help they can get."
Carith kept his glare at the man direct and unapologetic, standing as tall as he could muster and letting his eyes and his voice echo the fire in his heart. If this is the man who leads them they are already dead. These are just like the soldiers from my youth, posturing and hot wind, but have any of his men seen real battle? Or was their little assault on the orcs their first taste of real battle? Regardless, they are lost in superstition and fear... These men can not fight the Shadow as they are, the orcs and their foul master will run them down with out much effort if these men are as fearful of them as they are of the Snow Ghosts. Maybe this is all a lost cause for us after all...
Carith unshouldered his pack roughly and spoke again. "We have little to offer that would be of aid to your village. A pair of mead bottles to warm your men's spirits and a few pounds of bagged salt to help your stores of food." Carith removed the items from his pack and held them to the man before him, waiting to see if that paltry sum might barter them into the village.
The man stared right back into Carith's eyes, sizing up the man behind them perhaps. After a long, tense moment he seemed to relax a little, unconsciously stepping back from Carith's unwavering gaze.
"Well then. We can certainly use another few blades. We lost four men when we attacked the Legate and his thirty or so orcs, four men we could ill afford to lose."
His gaze then traveled quickly over each of the new arrivals appraisingly. "That'll be enough to get you in. My name is Hargeld, the leader of these men. We've been raiding up and down the Erunsi-Northlands border for months. Come inside, let us speak in a warm hall."
Carith and "his crew" were led into what were no doubt once the chambers of the Legate, then on into the great hall, and seated along a long wooden table that traveled much of the length of the large room. A bitter-smelling tea, popular in the North because the herb responsible had no qualities that would bring the wrath of Shadow, was placed before the newcomers along with a bit of bread. Nearby a fire burned, warming the room from the still-cold spring air outside.
Hargeld, the apparent leader of this band, sat at the head of the table. Spread before him were charts, a map and a ledger, evidence that he did much of his work there.
"Tell me more of yourselves. And of the skills you bring to the table. And of this odd vision I heard tell of." He smiled, all the tension of meeting new people now gone though he still seemed guarded. Still strangers, after all, even if they seemed promising.
Carith took a generous bite of bread and then slowly drank some of the bitter tea, a welcome reminder of earlier, more comfortable days. As he did so he glanced as best he could at the papers on the table, hoping to find something of interest, something new, written upon them."I am Carith, and these are Thrayn, Dornhild and Rongald." Carith gestured to each man in turn and then took another drink of the bitter tea.
Carith decided that, between their current position and what he himself knew of them, they could be trusted for now - and that honesty might make them more useful for later.
"We are all experienced warriors, having slain several orc patrols just on our trip to your village, and we have the tusks to prove it if you don't believe it. Beyond that, things become more difficult to explain. I have somewhat of a natrual talent for the forbitten sorcery," Carith said, lowering his voice conspiratorially at the last, probably without even thinking about it much. Habit. "And I have recently apprenticed myself to a powerful Elven sorcerer. It is from his training that I gained access to the ancient magic of the Elves, and was granted a vision by the forest of Erethor itself. I saw your village and piles of burning orcs, just as it is now, but I also saw what was to come. Another Legate marches for this place, his standard gleaming in the moonlight and showing a raptor's talons clutching a green sphere marked with red lines. His army comes to this place, and many men die. In the end the Legate is dead, but so too may be any hope of life in this village. Much is uncertain even now."
Carith took another bite of bread and finished off the last of his tea. "We are here to do two things, make sure that foul servant of the Shadow meets his end here, and to save as many of the people of this village as we can. I understand you may be hesitant to accept our help, the help of strangers, and I will respect your choice if you tell us to leave - but in this hour of darkness we are the only ones who will be coming to your aid, so take the help that is offered to you even if you do not like the source."
Hargeld remained quiet and unreadable as Carith explained their reasons for coming to Rode Pijler. A slight tightening around his eyes and lips gave away his tension at mention of Elves, but he remained calm, considering every word of Carith with great care. There was a long, almost awkward moment of silence afterwards, with a growing tension in the air, but just as Carith sensed Dornhild tensing up to preempt any ambush, the rebel leader spoke and his voice was calm, very even, almost monotone. Dornhild stayed motionless, but ready.
Hargeld nodded. "These tales are fantastical, and yet, what you say about your vision is to my knowledge truth. There was a battle here, a slaughter really - although the Legate was difficult to take down, he said with a flash of sorrow that belied how much an understatement that was.
"And, in fact, a small army does march toward Rode Pijler, I learnt recently. They are the forces of Warrior Legate Christoffel, a rival of the former Legate ruler of this area. His intent is to raze the village, blaming the rebellion. If he has learnt of his rival's demise it hasn't altered his course. I imagine he will string up a few humans and claim them as rebels, thus avenging the Shadow's shame, when he finds out - the fall of this garrison won't change his plans much.
"If he succeeds, this village will be no more, and Christoffel will be given even more power and authority, maybe even being promoted to the front lines of the fight against the Snow Ghosts of the deadly woods."
One of the men beside Hargeld turned red, stepping forward to proclaim Hargeld a fool to believe in the tales of Fey, but Hargeld held his ground, hand lightly resting meaningfully upon his dagger hilt. Calmly, he instructed the Dorn to step back, then smiled when the latter had, finally, done as he was instructed. Apparently the Dorn was rude, not brave.
"Make no mistake, men. The Elves are in fact real. Whether they truly stole babies and cows to sacrifice to their demon queen, I know not. I do, however, know that they are real. They do fight. They hold back the Shadow where Men have failed. Anything we can do to destabilize Izrador's ability to get organized against the Fey of the north, the better on all of us. So pull your head out and get yourself together, man."
Somewhat embarrassed by this display before strangers, Hargeld coughed and then apologized. "Not all of us have seen an Elf, nor do my men know much about the great Human rebel leader, a man of greatness in mind and destiny, who lashes out against shadow from the grace and protection of the Elves. If I sound in awe of him, it is because I am. I have seen Fey, and I do know of such a Man.
"And so, I am prepared to believe you. Your description of Christoffel's standard is accurate, though I pray your vision was a warning and not writ in stone. We would be honored to have you by our side in the coming battle, friends."
Carith nodded, very interested in the Lord riding out from the protection of the Fey territories, although he kept silent on the issue otherwise. "We will do what ever we can do aid you friend, but I will need some infromation if I am to be of much use. First, do you know how long it will be until the orcs arrive, and do we have anything close to a solid count of their numbers?"
Hargeld said very slowly, watching Carith's reactions intently, "They should arrive in about a week, leaving us very little time to finish our preparations. Our spies, who alerted us to the force in the first place, report some thirty Orcs strong, with three or so Oruk and of course that Dirnesohn, Legate Christoffel.
"For our part, we have perhaps 40 men in arms - mostly infantry, fewer than a dozen archers. We'll be more poorly equipped than they are, but I expect the many provisions we seized when we took Rode Pijler will keep the men strong and energetic. We also have a better healer than I expect them to have, since Christoffel won't likely have wasted time learning to heal magically. I believe, perhaps vainly, that I am a better leader and strategist than this Christoffel as well, having studied his past battles via reports from our spies.
"The village itself is down to about 45 other people, mostly women, children and the elderly. This doesn't include the men under arms I mentioned. Fortunately, the food is abundant. We could feed a unit twice our size with all gluttony for many months.
"A final item of interest - the red pillar for which this village is named in the foul Black Tongue. Surely you noted it on your arrival. Our fortification of it should be complete by the time they arrive. It is high enough that they can't climb easily, and we've established a pallisade that will allow us to fire directly down the sides of the pillar. Getting there, aye, there's the easy part. We discovered an ancient tunnel, from the looks of it dating back many generations. The tunnel comes right up the center of the pillar. The way in is beneath the Legate's old chambers, now our headquarters, and is broad enough for two men abreast.
"There is a problem of course. Nothing is easy, right? The problem is that it is dug through solid rock, so we can't collapse it behind us with what we have available to us - nor would we want to, since it is a way out potentially, but it would be nice to have the option. So, we have rigged the building over the entrance to burn. That will hold them back for some time, should they break our defenses here in the village."
There was a long pause.
Slowly, letting Hargeld's speech percolate into his thinking more fully, Carith nodded and then looked to the map for a few moments before finally pointing down to it.
"A good plan," Carith said reassuringly, "but if you don't mind I have a few suggestions." After recieving a permissive nod from Hargeld he motioned to several spots on the map, common paths from East towards the village. "The orcs will most likely advance from here and here. Obviously they will try to penetrate the pallisade as soon as they can, and if they do this we and everyone in this village are as good as dead. What we need to do is to restrict their movement, slow them down and get them into this zone right here where the wall curves inward by the south tower - there our archers can rain death down upon them. If we can somehow kill half their number before they reach our walls we have a much better chance."
Hargeld nodded, thinking through various plans to accomplish the difficult task. "Orcs under the whips of a Legate and his Oruk commanders will charge without fear even into certain death, and if they break through our defenses through sheer numbers, the chaos in this village will be like the greatest Pellurian storm - but not for long, for the storm will quickly tear us apart."
Carith's eyes seemed to drift off for a few moments, his mind wandering back and remembering a battle from the distant past. After a moment he regained his composure and replied to Hargeld, his tone soft and reassuring once more. "All we need is some rope or vines, some shovels and anything we can put at the bottom of a pit that might impale an Orc. Keep men working on the Pillar, but with your permission, I would like to take a few men, maybe even some of the villagers, and begin setting up some suprises for the attackers. With a bit of luck we will make Rode Pillar a name that is spoken in fear among the minions of the Shadow for years to come."
Carith wiped the stinging persperation from his brow and leaned against the simple wooden-hafted shovel in his hand. Although it was still early Spring the sun beat down on him from its mid-day height relentlessly and he had worked up quite a sweat. At least it warms the ground and makes the pits easier to dig.
After a moment to just breathe, he tossed the shovel onto a pile of fresh, loose earth and picked up his blade, moving off purposefully to examine the other defenses being constructed to his instructions. They are coming along quicker than I thought they would. But just three and a half days for them to make the town defensable? He knew what time they had would scarcely be enough. The men were raiders, and knew little of defense and almost nothing of seiges. Not that he fooled himself into believing his own body of knowledge was vast, but it had so far earned him the respect of the men. Hopefully that would be enough...
Carith stood watching the simple people dig simple but effective pits. Among those pits, by plan they lay out ropes and vines, stretched taught just inches from the ground. These will definitely slow the advance of the orcs and hopefully channel them along the path we want them to take, to a spot I hope we can more easily defend.
He watched them work and memories flooded back to him, memories of his past life as a solider, and of the last time he had led men in battle. Far away under the shade of the great trees he had fought, but there he had been the aggressor. They had tried to slow his group's assult, but they did not have the training to do so. Instead they fought with spirit, defending their homes and loved ones, before one by one to the last man they had died. In his mind the echoes and clangs, the din of battle, was fresh as memory. He and his unit slaughtered those fools in there homes like animals. Helpless people. And he had done it. He had done it because to even think of refusing was to die by the vardatch of some orc who would enjoy it entirely too much; to show weakness invited death. Back then, he was not ready to die. Had that changed now, he wondered to himself, but he found no answers.
