Herwr Arglwyddi

[Stratovarius]

The sun broke the horizon in the tribal village of Hamaethwr, the seat of power for Mormaer and his warrior chieftains. Huddled in the bowl of the mountains, and against the far end of the valley, the town sits around the tarn that gathers from the spill of the tors, and flows down in a mountain ghyll to the moraine below. Short cropped green grass dominates the landscape, with patches of heather and ferns comprising much of the rest of the vegetation, and across the hills and tors roam white dots, sheep owned by the farmers of Hamaethwr and the surrounding countryside. A cluster of tumuli covered the ground behind the village, circling round from the left to the right, an arc only half complete. Here lay the graves of all previous rulers, buried with suitable pomp and circumstance. The newest of the mounds still showed marks of fresh-turned earth, and it was but one turning of the moon since the king had been laid down. He had been struck down by Mormaer in a dispute, and men about the town still wore bandages and fresh scars, for the fighting had lasted the full turn of the sun, and death had come to a few.

Three of those men who had supported Mormaer sat in the central broch, hands wrapped around tankards of mead and ale. It was their first meal of the day, and all rubbed their eyes, still groggy from the celebration the night before. The conversation was quiet, for the thumping heads and sore bodies would stand only a small noise, and also due to the subject, for these men plotted already against Mormaer. He was not a strong king, and relied greatly on the support of the men underneath him. However, he was still popular and in his first blood of ruling, and few wanted to risk more bloodshed now, for it was the planting season of early spring, and each man tended to their farm, and put their weapons away to sit beside the fireplace. And so their conversation had a waiting to it.

Soon enough, they turned to the summer months, those great days of glowing sun and charging wind, when the Hauthar would fly down out of their mountain fastness, rush down from their tors and out of their roundhouses, and prey upon the people to their south, those soft and weak men of the plains and open lands, who had once built a wall to keep them out. That wall was breached now, stones taken away to build homes and brochs and halls, and often only the foundation remained, no counter to the raiding parties of the Hauthar. This year, should they gain enough support within the village, the three men might lead their first charge down from their dun, and into glorious battle.

This is the official game thread for the Bandit Lords. IC chatter only please.

[AfterCrescent]

The man-beast called Simell set down his mead and began the tedious task of rebraiding his beard. Sometime during the night, the gem that held the braid in place had slipped off, and he enjoyed the way the gems matched the spines along his arms and scales upon his neck so much that he almost seemed glad ensuring the braids were properly done.

Finishing the task on his beard, Simell reached out and picked up his morning ale, ignoring the clanking of his metal claw bracers on the mug.  As his tail draped along the ground behind him, he turned the conversation to a combination of the two topics.  "So we raid the summer for supplies and prove our worth. Then we take it."

[EjoThims]

His own silver hair trailing down his back in a tangled mess, full of shoddy braids imitating the local style, Mr. Unlucky sniggers a little to himself and continues to chew on the blade of his oldest dagger, licking at the stains and not caring one bit how the rusted notches cut at his gums. One purple eye swivels around the room while the other remains fixed on Simell. He tucks the blade back into one of the many snarls in his hair and cackles a bit before speaking.

"Why not just take... it...heh, while everyone else is out raiding... Then kill everyone who has a problem, ya, with that, with us having it. Then we go out raiding, ya know... for the fun of it."

Eyes coming into focus for a second, Mr. Unlucky quaffs his own ale, screams softly, and then begins devouring his breakfast.

[VennDygrem]

The somewhat peculiar Orc currently sitting in this group clutched the mug of mead in his hand and muttered.

"Hair of the dog, or so they say."

Dez tossed back his head and attempted to gulp the drink down heartily, as he had observed others do in this common tradition. This failed, as he had little experience in the drinking arts. As he sputtered into his mug, the Orc man's features grew less distinct. He seemingly shrank by almost a foot, the toned muscles common to the orcs fading to a much less impressive frame. His wild brown hair grew longer and took on a brilliant white shade, and his mouth and nose all but disappeared from his face. Furthermore, were one to look more closely, they would notice that "he" was now most certainly a she.

I've been here I don't know how many months, and this... stuff still makes me gag.

Dez knew that her ability to change form was a well-received trait in the village, and a particular boon in battle. When the men got drunk, as they had last night, they particularly enjoyed testing the limits to this ability; Surely they knew other more enjoyable ways to make use of her abilities, but by now Dez was sure they knew better, and knew what she could do to those who crossed her. During the night's celebration, she had been asked to portray some of the others in the village, as well as to show off some of the other humanoid creatures she's come across in her travels. The final form of the night, and the one she had been in just now, was that of a particular Orc lord that had met his end on one of the village's blades last winter. The men always enjoyed a chance to see their enemies portrayed as fools, though Dez was careful not to stir up the bloodlust of the drunks when choosing forms.

She took the form of a female Drow next, her favored form and likely the one most recognizable to the others, wiping her mouth of the brew. She then sat in concentration, as the ends of her fingers became tipped in sharp talons.
The two men sitting with her exchanged whispered words, and she considered them. Dez shivered as she looked over to Mr. Unlucky, not fully understanding the unnatural chilly sense of dread that surrounded him, and spoke.

"I know patience doesn't come easily to you people, but that is exactly why it is necessary in this situation. They will be unsuspecting, and thus it will be all the better for the taking. After that, we do as we like, but for now we must bide our time. Take pleasure in the raids until then, and observe its weaknesses. The opportunity will then come to us."

Did you not notice my character's actually female, or were you setting me up to show off the whole Changeling thing?

Natural Weapon shaped for the day is a set of claws.

[Stratovarius]

Didn't notice, really.

[AfterCrescent]

The beast covered in blue-white fur chuckles at Dez's issue with the drink. "We'll get you cleared of that problem one day."

At the mention of the raids, the draconic tail slowly lifts on the ground and begins to wave back and forth. "I do take so much pleasure in the raids." As he says this, he stretches his arms above his head while two more fur and claw covered arms reach out from under his cloak to bring the drink to his lips.

"So we agree? Let's go kill today. We'll enjoy our summer of raiding, but if the opportunity comes early, we take it!" His arms slam the mug down with emphasis as he stands. Shedding his cloak, the four armed monstrosity stretches its arms in various directions and lets loose a gut-wrenching belch. Simell lets his tail fall to the ground as his lower arms fold across the purple scales that adorn his waist.  He begins to sharpen his arm spines on each other aimlessly.

[VennDygrem]

Dez wrinkles her nose at the belch, wearing her disgust on her sleeve, but glances casually at Simell's peculiar, monstrous features.

One of these days I will learn the secret behind how he shapes this... Incarnum, was it? I haven't seen him change these abilities as often as I can change my form, but they are potent weapons; much less superficial than my natural abilities. However, I must first master the secrets of the Druids' shapeshifting first, lest my discipline fail me.

"Agreed. The blood of summer shall run, and our time will be at hand. Now, what of today? Is there another raid coming up?"

No worries, Strato. Not that it usually matters with a Changeling, but I felt like trying something different with this character.

[AfterCrescent]

"You can check with Mormaer if you want. I say we just grab a couple of the living and go raiding." After a moment's pause, Simell's eyes light up with an idea. "My ale stores may be low," he says with a grin. "How about yours, Mister?"

[EjoThims]

"Heheheeeeehehehe..."

Mr. Unlucky giggles softly to himself as he observes the other two, always pleased at how their twisted forms mimic his own twisted mind. He speaks again when Simell pauses.

"Unlucky, unlucky, so unlucky...

Find someone and make them the unlucky ones...

Yes, and ale would be, nice? For the living, so nice. While the dead provide us. A fine arrangement, here and there. There and everywhere, in all things, yes? Yes.

Let's go, up the stores, down the hatchets, and feed the fields...

EeeEEEeheheheEeeeeheheheee..."

As the cackle dies away, Mr. Unlucky frolcis away from the broch, spinning and jumping wildly.

[AfterCrescent]

"Good. We hunt." The beast turns away, smashing the mug into pieces with its tail.

Pausing to speak over its shoulder, "You coming, Dez?"

[VennDygrem]

"Yes, of course."

Dez lifts slowly from her seat and follows the two.

Just remember, the mad one has his uses. Unfit to hold any position of leadership perhaps, lest he command the men to raid some imaginary settlement, but he has his uses indeed.

As she walks, Dez flexes her hands, admiring the craft in shaping her claws for the day.

"Yes... we hunt!"

[AfterCrescent]

Taking a moment to glance at the sky, Simell turns north.

"Come. We're going to Herwr s Sipia."  With those words, the beast drops almost to all six as he takes off at a light jog, straining the efforts of the others to keep up.  He pauses abruptly when he spots a couple fellow tribesmen exiting their homes for the morning.

"We go to raid. Come with us or live as cowards." Whether the others dive into their homes to grab their weapons or not, Simell takes to his jog again, pausing only at the edge of town for the others to catch up.

[EjoThims]

Mr. Unlucky goes silent as they head out, staring off into space with a wide, twisted grin on his face.

[VennDygrem]

Dez follows suit, making almost reflexive use of her training so as to move softly yet swiftly. She decides against using her abilities to change her form, as the Drow are typically fearsome enough for most of the lighter raids, and wild-shaping into another form would be wasteful at this moment; The ability is difficult to maintain at this point in her training, and she can only keep it going for so long before being returned to her previous form.

Soon. Soon I shall be powerful enough to maintain this mystical ability longer, perhaps indefinitely. Until then...

So... how much of this are we supposed to wait for Strato, as the DM, to provide? The in-game comment on "What to do now" was sort of aimed at that notion.

[AfterCrescent]

I was talking to him online earlier, hence the town name. I think it's more of "What do you all want to do" type campaign. World exploring and the like. We can really do almost whatever we try to do. Of course when he comes back Monday, he may refute this thought.

[Stratovarius]

It is a long, slow stride to the town of Herwr s Sipia, another village nestled into a valley, some two days travel away. Those with the bestial trio need to rest more frequently, unable to keep their harsh pace. It is near dawn of the second day when the town is sighted, and they pause to examine it from a nearby hilltop. The village is a dun, a hill fort of stone and earth, and the walls have several sentries. Farms dot the terrain below the hill, and the farmers can be seen heading out with the early light.

It's pretty much you guys picking where and what to do. I'll just be running the game world in the background and summoning the occasional rock

Now's the time for spot checks and plotting attacks.

[AfterCrescent]

Simell sniffs the morning air and surveys the scene of the valley below.

"Do you smell that?" He asks, turning to Dez and Mr. Unlucky. "Good day for raid." He smirks.  Turning to the other tribesmen, Simell explains basic instructions.  "Never surrender. Take only women prisoner. We want their fear, booze, and women."

[VennDygrem]

Glaring at the land before her, Dez drinks in the landscape and begins formulating plans, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of the village fort.

"We'll want their resources as well. They are fortified, and are thus likely to be well-stocked. For this reason, we won't want to torch their buildings. Not at first, anyhow. We arrive at a fortunate time, though. It is just before dawn; Most of their men will likely be just awakening as we attack. If we can take them by surprise, this victory will be all the sweeter."


 

Spot check = 17
Strato: How many tribesmen are with us? Also, how are we going to adjudicate what forms my character knows about to wildshape into?

AC+Ejo: So, how shall we go about attacking? I figure I'll be using my daily wildshape soon, and this being my first wild-shaping character and with the abilities of the Shapechanger class, I've got several options open to me. A few stand out, so we'll see what form allows me the most carnage.

[EjoThims]

Mr. Unlucky giggles silently and glances around, then smirks wide as he speaks.

"Supplies supplies... They'll be surprised indeed... But not now. They are like chickens, out early, pecking around, while the cock crows. In the dusk, wearier than the dawn. We, an owl, swooping in the night, rising with the dusk, but come morn, we hoot and fly.

Kill the farmers, wear their skin, rest today, then follow the rest inside tonight. The cocks will be boozed and the chickens tired."

[Stratovarius]

Dez's eyes are able to piece some of the distance to the dun of Herwr s Sipia and to her springs the vision of soldiers training in the courtyard, although some are little more than boys with wooden sticks. The storehouses appear to be nestled within the dun, placed off of the central sphere around the lord's hall, and men can be seen taking grain from them, handing it out to farmers queued to carry it back to their farms.

Venn:

4-5 Tribesmen, all of whom are level 1-2 warriors.

Couple things that I mentioned to AC online: This town is about the same size as yours and not all that friendly to yours. There have been conflicts in the past. Also, said town has about the same size of population, including the same 6-7 level 4s and a level 5-6 ruler. So, you're fairly outnumbered.