The Taking of Woodsford Keep - RPLOG
Participants
Date
22/8/479
Log
The wagon carrying a load of Freeswords and other swords-for-hire from the capital slowly trudges on as it crests a hill. The village of Summerford is just visible to the north, a small pile of stone buildings surrounding a guard tower, and ringed by mud-and-straw cruck houses going all the way from the hilltop to the base.
They have been summoned here to help deal with a common crisis in the Kingdom's fiefdoms. Unwanted squatters. Apostates, bandits and murderers all according to the missive they were given, have taken claim over a fortification. With the Rangers busy, and the Army being of too high a strategic value to allocate to such a small fiefdom, it falls upon these private contractors to fulfill the eviction notice on these unwanted dregs of society.
The wagon bumps, and slowly rolls to a stop. With a sharp call from the driver the Freeswords are invited to dismount. All around is thick, lush forest, but just down the path the landscape opens into a large clearing, in the middle of which is a giant massif, the bedrock upon which the grand old fort is built on. Standing up on a rock and looking on into the clearing is one salamander, leaning on his spear as he gazes up at the castle in the distance. He turns as he hears the wagon, and with a knowing smirk Zane hops down from the rock and moves to greet the mercenaries.
Clayton Southfoot, whom had been travelling with the group, hops out of the wagon first, soon followed by a half-dozen Freeswords of various species. He moves up to Zane and salutes, and the others follow suit with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Shira hops off the wagon as the others do, making care to wiggle he war to the front of the crowd so she can see the salamander and better listen to him, in case he is the contact. The tiny mouse looks around herself and up at the various mercenaries that surround her, trying to figure out how large a group of squatting bandits must be to warrant calling in what amounts to a small private army. She does however not salute Zane, why is unclear.
Fenris is here today as Amos Longtooth, the grizzled old veteran who is most definitely not a member of the King's Spyguard. The tattered old tomcat eases himself down from the wagon and gives a whistle, cueing his gigantic, iron boar to trot up from where it has been following the wagon. "Zane," he rasps, nodding to the little salamander sheriff, "Clayton gave me the run down. You got anything to add?"
Angus hops out the back of the Wagon, taking his hat off to run a hand through his hair after the long cart ride. Placing it back on his head he looks around, stepping up to the rest of the crowd with his arms crossed as he studies the old fort and its crumbling battlments.
Zane, himself the captain of the Summerford militia, offers Amos a smirk. "He did, did he?" He throws Clayton a look and orders him to step aside with a nod of the head. "Well, for the benefit of all the other mercs.." He turns around and steps back towards the rock, gesturing at the ruined fortification. "Welcome to Woodsford Keep, or what's left of it. This gem used to be a trading post and army station, but as times change so do the needs for defense, eh?" He crosses his arms after turning back to the group. "Mission's easy boys and girls. That place is laden with apostates, murderers, thieves and bandits of all kinds. They've been using it as a launching platform for raids on the countryside, specifically on the nearby village of Lillup. They've stolen cattle, crops, burned up property. I'd not be surprised if they started extortion soon..." He turns back to look at the group, nodding at them. "We're here to make sure they don't wipe Lillup off the map completely, and never move on to pick on Summerford or any of the other villages here. Use whatever means you need to make sure this ends here."
Shira nods along with the briefing and lets one hand rest on the grip of her short sword, while the other tucks on hair and ear, the little rodent filled with determination and anticipation. Typical young fighter, still eager to get their blade wet. She does not ask any further questions, being pointed at the enemy and let loose on them seemed rather straight forward.
"Got it," Amos rasps, then looks from Angus to Shira, "Shall we?" The tattered old tom cat turns and starts to saunter down the hill, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. He does not charge or sneak or do anything but walk toward the gates of the ruined fort, his boar shaped golem thudding along behind him. "I think I will go knock," he says.
Angus whistles a little. "They managed to us this run down thing to stage all that? I'm impressed, damnedable thing looks like it's about to fall down on their heads." His ears flick as Amos starts walking up to the gates, smiling just a little bit as he shakes his head. "Remind me to never get that crazy when I get old." He teases, making sure his voice carries as he keeps an eye on the battlements.
The fort isn't particularly big, and is in somewhat of a state of disrepair. It sits atop a large natural rock formation - a massif - that makes a direct assault on the walls difficult. Luckily the fort has indeed seen better days, and while the walls may appear rather impregnable the main gate is partly collapsed and clearly non-functional, a permanent chink in the fortification's defenses.
The being-made clearing is somewhat overgrown with thigh-height vegetation, but devoid of any tall cover or trees. This ostensibly makes it hard for any invading army to approach the walls without suffering volley upon volley of bow fire.. but at the moment the walls lay bare, and the fort is approached not by an army, but by a small group of dedicated and crafty mercenaries.
As they approach without any effort to hide, a few heads pop out form atop the battlements. There is a rush of motion, a messenger travelling from one of the crumbled towers to somewhere deep within the fort, no doubt to report this latest development. A few guards, roused by the commotion, stand forward and take position near the main entrance, behind what looks like an improvised pallisade to try and plug the gap left by the non-functioning gate.
Shira hums quietly as she watches the bandits take positions and asks towards her allies, but no one in particular, "Shall we then? Would be rude to leave them waiting." She does not wait for an answer as she starts focusing on some supportive magic to enhance the mercenaries in the battle that is sure to come, slightly glowing mathemagical symbols glowing on many of the weapons that the beings are carrying, signaling their enhanced potential.
"Don't go wild just yet, newbie," Amos growls, "The best way isn't always the way that ends in the most destruction." Then the old tom raises his voice. "We're here to talk with Hulda," he shouts, stopping at the gate, "Open up before I gotta knock!" His monstrous golem tromps right behind, providing a possible cover should someone decide to take a pot shot at the threesome.
Angus flicks his ears, shifting his weight a bit as his stance widens in response to the defenders. His arms stayed crossed at his chest, counting the sorry sort of defenders. "Under armed, and uncordinated. Don't think they were smart enough to fill the rock bucket over the main gates, but keep an eye out in case for once we are unlucky enough they can think." He mutters quietly enough anyone near him can hear it.
