(015) Near Saxxon's Gatehouse

[waysoftheearth]

tombowings wrote:
In the wake of a bloody battle, Pelenwin sits down to bind his wounds and those of his downed companions.

[waysoftheearth]

danhem wrote:
Ulric races down the ridge to roll Gustave out of the mud and tend to his injuries.

[waysoftheearth]

coffee wrote:
Dieter watches the retreating foemen.

"They'll keep," he mutters to himself.

Then he sits down and tends the wounds he has, wondering if he can find another helm somewhere.

[waysoftheearth]

heartless wrote:
Wibert will go climb the ridge on the other side from where he came (where knave 8 was) to look out for any approaching danger from any sneak attacks.

[waysoftheearth]

eris wrote:
Olaf will wait for aid and then sit up and try to recover as quickly as possible. There are still a lot of enemies out there and he's already worried about the gear back with the cart and horse.

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave lies spluttering and gurgling in the cold mud, half crawling half drowning until Ulric comes scampering down the hill to his aid. The mysterious spell-binder unstops a flask and holds the cusp to Gustave's parched lips. What acursed magic is contained within, Gustave vaguely wonders as he gags and swallows the refreshing stuff...

Seeing the danger passed, Pelenwin removes his helm, wipes the sweat and grime from his brow, and kneels. Sitting there among the windswept tussocks of grass and shallow muddy pools, he closes his eyes to meditate...

Dieter too lets himself down, casting his bloodshot and bruised eyes about for a helm, but not immediately spying one. He shrugs and painfully peels the heavy mail shirt, and blood matted gambeson beneath, away from the worst of his hurts, and tries to sluice them with his water flask, then stanch the bleeding with the clean(er) fabric torn from his shirt.

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Meanwhile, Wibert trotts across to kick and slap the deceased Sigmund and berate him for past indescretions, as Highbough yanks his spear free of Wulfric's corpse, dislodging a significant glut of bloody tissue, and rattling the giant's ragged coat of rings as he does so, and them frisking it.

Wulfirc carried a rather flimsy purse containing a handfull of copper and silver coins, a pair of wooden dice, and a small clay smoking pipe. Under his shirt the curious Elf locates a pungent sheaf of a strange tobacco. The Man's other possessions appear limited to his dented shield, helm, now pierced adn bloodied ringmail coat, and his heavy morning star.

Sigmund carries even less, not even a purse. All that can be gleaned of his worldly goods is his short bladed court sword -- it appears to be of a reliable rather than outstanding craft. Wibert has already picked up the Man's dagger and is eyeing off its curved edge in the pale afternoon light. The subtle glamour of the blade catches Highbough's eye and he half suspects that it might be the work of an Elvish-trained smith.

As Wibert runs off, Olaf croaks something vaguely encouraging before dragging himself painfully to a half sitting position, where he can rest more easily... so good of the others to help him out, but such is the lot of the Fighting Man. He cringes.

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Pretty soon (for a Halfling) Wibert has scaled the western ridge of the gully, while his wounded companions recuperate in the gully behind him.

From the ridge he spies the cold world around him; a baroque grassy tumble land lies to the east, punctuated by rippling ridges and broken rock-faces, while to the west the great canyon lies like a scar. He sees no sign of any further threat, nor of the fleeing brigands, these apparently having quickly gone to ground in the surrounding terrain.

Saxxon's keep squats over the edge of the ravine like a brooding gargoyle some hundred or so yards yonder west. A thin whisp of smoke from a cook-fire, or mayhap the kitchens, is scattered by the wind almost as soon as it rises above the gatehouse...

[waysoftheearth]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Before Wibert returns to the grisly site of the battle, most of the wounded have had a chance to vet their worst hurts, or those of their fellows, and to refit dinged armour, and sate their dire thirsts.

(d6s tumble; Mads=2, Dieter=4, Pelenwin=5, Olaf=4, Ulric=5, Gustave=2, Andaros=6, Boris=3, Victor=1).

The injured are revived to the following extent:

Mads 3 of 9
Dieter 5 of 12
Pelenwin 6 of 12
Olaf 4 of 10
Ulric 4 of 4
Gustave 2 of 9
Andaros 12 of 12
Boris 7 of 7
Victor 5 of 10

Some are still feeling their hurts more keenly than others... meanwhile, the referee throws (1d6).

[waysoftheearth]

mushgnome wrote:

Wulfirc carried a rather flimsy purse containing a handfull of copper and silver coins, a pair of wooden dice, and a small clay smoking pipe. Under his shirt the curious Elf locates a pungent sheaf of a strange tobacco. The Man's other possessions appear limited to his dented shield, helm, now pierced and bloodied ringmail coat, and his heavy morning star... Wibert has already picked up the Man's dagger and is eyeing off its curved edge in the pale afternoon light. The subtle glamour of the blade catches Highbough's eye and he half suspects that it might be the work of an Elvish-trained smith.

"Luck has run out for this brute of a man and his allies," proclaims Highbough the Cypher, quickly pocketing the dice. "That is a fine blade there, Little One (to Wibert), smithed by my people. Stolen, no doubt. Good Sir, (to Dieter) have you need of a helm?" He leaves the coin purse and other trinkets in the open for all to examine.

"I wonder what became of that strange Dwarf fellow? If like forces awaited him at the Keep, I do not like his chances. We must hope our bloody ruse has served its purpose, to draw out the bulk of their fighting forces. This Saxxon must be cunning indeed with two such as these (gesturing to Wulfric and Sigmund) as his champions."