(1865-10-28) Wine, wounds and war
Wine, wounds and war
Summary: Lord Thomas, Viscount Reine, Sir Henric and Sir Wulfred discuss the attack on the Thorn encampment
Date: 1865-10-28
Related: Battle in the foothills of the east
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Thomas  Varian  Henric  Wulfred  

A tent near the location at which they fought.
A large enough tent in which there's a suitable amount of wine and a table upon which a map rests.
1865-10-28

(There is oh so brief profanity within this log)

It is two days after the battle in the foothills, after the disappointing feeling that one gets when the enemy slips away. There is no question that the enemy was soundly defeated; indeed, they were slain to the last man, preferring to die in combat rather than be captured by the forces of the Betrayer and the Rose Queen. But where did the rest of the enemy go? It is hard to determine.

To that end, the Lords and Knights who commanded in that battle, who did the fighting and the bleeding are here… with one exception; Lady Bethany Ashedown has already left with a small escort of her troops to Firen, though she left the brunt of them. Lord Thomas Chandus is in the command tent of the force, armoured but with his helmet, his vambrace and shield set beside him. He studies a map of the area, since corrected by Sir Wulfred's Burnished Spurs to accurately represent the ground, and frowns.

Henric's in the command tent as well, leaning back on a chair with his arm in a sling, good hand holding a travel mug of brandy. He's quietly watching Thomas study the map, making no reference to it himself, quite yet. The thought of the forces going under ground using deeper roads by which to travel, is a frightening thought. The fact that they could move such a mass of men through unknown stretches of cave systems, seemed… unnatural. Henric's own riders went for those two full days, trying to find some hope of track and trail of the retreating forces. None had been found. So he sits, waiting for some word of what the next step was.

Wulfred pushes into the tent like a warship launched from the drydock, a sudden duck of such girth and beard through the entrance and then a majestic rise beneath the canvas as if broaching the first wave to cascade against his hull. The fluid motion of his movements no doubt in part to a considerable amount of medicinal whiskey to dull the pain of his shattered left arm that has at the very least been treated and bandaged and be-slinged. Or slung. Possibly even be-slung. His own men having resumed their tracking and bandit hunting duties under Sir Jauffre, though a few remain to ensure the security of the encampment. Nodding to those present, the bearded and somewhat pale knight pulls a large flask from his sling and approaches Henric to offer said medicinal aid, "Sir Henric! Take a swig of this foul concoction, it'll dull the pain." And kill tastebuds most likely, "Honey brandy or somesuch nonsense and Lord Thomas, you look miserable."

The sound of men in armour coming to attention announced Varian's arrival, the figure of the momentarily unarmoured viscount coming into view a few seconds later as he rounded the corner to enter the command tent as well. His gloves are pinched together on his belt loop, the fingers bouncing slightly with every step while the sidhe-steel sword rattles quietly at his hip. "My lords," he states once he is within the tent, looking to each of those in turn. He moves smartly in the direction of the table, with only the slightest hint of a limp in his step from the leg that he had been shot in. "No success on all of our fronts, I take it?" The tone of Varian implied that he had expected as much; apparently, they were fighting molemen. Or ghosts.

Thomas can't help but brighten at the shambling, stumbling sight of Sir Wulfred du Ufford. He's a bright spot in an army even on his worst day, and when he's intoxicated he's doubly so. A small smile spreads Thomas's lips apart, though only slightly. "Sir Wulfred. You must understand, fourteen of my militia and one of my Sun Shields are dead and -" He is interrupted by Varian's entrance, dipping his head in a respectful bow. "Your excellency. My scouts believe that they fled underground and collapsed the cave behind them but… The mountains go across the whole east of the Kingdom and beyond."

Henric would normally stand for the in coming commanders, but he's definitely too tired to even muster it and likely had enough of his own brandy to properly keep in his seat. The medicinal aid is taken with a stout grunt, "Good man Wulf," noted with a tip of the flask, taking a long grizzly drink that makes him shudder and shake his head afterward, "Uggh.. yeah, that hit the spot-" a good lump in his belly now for it. He hands the flask back to Wulfred, a nod following. "No, your excellency. Nothing, not even a leaf stirred by a footprint of those crow-eaten bastards," a nod to follow up with what Thomas says, "And the cavalry have picked up no trace on land, in any direction. No army can move swiftly and without trace… especially the size of the one we have believed to have gotten away fromo us. Lord Thomas is correct, I too believe they've went under ground to roads we do not know of."

It is with a wave of his good hand that Wulfred answers Thomas, "They did a damned good job, were it not for those men we would have faced the need to retreat and regroup." The flask is taken, swigged deeply from and tucked once more into the secure sling that now acts as storage for booze. The arrival of Varian has the pale and bearded knight turn about and bow stiffly, "Your Excellency, it will certainly take time to figure where the bastards are going to come out… we'll probably hear reports of their foul activities first though." That said, Wulfred moves to take a seat and into it he lowers his bulk with a certain relief, "They are better equipped then we could ever have envisioned, artillery… by the One. Bastards!"

Varian had come to a halt next to the table that Thomas was standing at, returning the bow of Thomas's head with one of his own before turning his attention briefly towards the map. It did not tell them much they did not already know; the bandits or Thorn soldiers or whatever they were are long gone. Scurried off into the network of caves lancing about the region. "They will surely pop up again to cause us issue down the road, I imagine. I would have liked to put paid to them already, however. A shame." A quiet tsk-ing noise left the viscount before he turned back about to face the rest of the men gathered in the command tent, nodding at both in turn as they speak. "I am hoping, however, that when they spring up out of ground once more it is without any heavy artillery. If we are fortunate, the only thing scurrying through the earth are the rodents themselves and what they could carry."

"Aye, I suspect that's the case, my lord." Thomas drops into a more casual and relaxed form of address for Varian, reaching downward to throw a grey wolf fur cloak over his armour and fasten it at the chest. The brooch is a brilliant white gold, a sun in splendor. He rubs his stubbly face. "My lords, we ought to discuss our performance in the battle, I think. What went properly and what did not."

Henric is the lowest ranked man here at the table, so he'll sit back and sip on his brandy while the others take the lead in debriefing the performance of their men and arms. For the current, he has little to add, other than to nod. He won't be the first man to say it, even if he wants to bemoan the use of a better plan than Bethany.

Wulfred reaches up with his good hand to scratch at his beard, his face seemingly more weathered and the eyes pouchier than normal, weary if anything, "There's one thing we are going to face against these bastards it seems and that is artillery, but we aren't engineers or sappers or artillerymen. We're fighters and warriors. And the only thing we can do against such a threat is retreat or charge. There is no middle ground when it comes to those damned contraptions." Wulfred falls silent a moment, tugging at his beard, "Either way, one feint or another would have been needed to draw their infantry into battle." That said, the flask is withdrawn from his sling once more, if only so he can adjust his arm against his stomach.

The table creaks faintly as Varian rests his waistline back against it, his arms folding across his chest as he nods his head in agreement with what has been said so far. "The artillery was… Unexpected. An unexpected and unpleasant surprise. I will admit that I came expecting a rather straight forward clean-up of the filth hiding here, not a charge into artillery and long cannon fire." There is a little pause as he tilts his head to the side somewhat, reaching up to rub faintly at his chin - freshly shaven that morning - before glancing sidelong. "Being forced to maneuver in to salvage the failed bait was also not to our benefit." The red-headed bait.

"The best way to have dealt with artillery is, as you say, Sir Wulfred, to draw their infantry out to battle. We must fix them on pike or spear, preferably, so that they are engaged. Then we send in a light cavalry to swiftly destroy or slay their artillerists and wreck what they can, or at least harass them from the flanks. If the enemy's reserve turns to attack, the horse flee. That is why light cavalry would be best for that." Whether Thomas is talking about his own Hobelars is unclear. He could very well simply be referring to general principles. "We were in a bad fix, even outnumbering them as we did. I've never seen men with morale like that, men who didn't break, or try to yield but simply fought to the death. But Sir Wulfred, your men's cannon fire did splendidly dealing with the enemy's pieces."

Thomas ceases speaking while he goes to fetch a flagon of wine and a tray of cups, though others seem to be drinking harder. He puts it down on a side table and motions to the others, asking them without verbalising it if they'd like any. He does speak though now, just not about the wine. "And thank God we kept troops in reserve for that final push. Perhaps the bait was… ill advised, my lord. The plan we'd discussed before linking with you was a cavalry rush. Had we done that and swarmed them, it likely would have knocked their siege pieces out at the beginning and occupied their infantry long enough for us to bring our heavy troops up."

Henric is from another House even though he pledged his service to House Tarris, so he'll be damned if he speaks out and ruins his opportunity. Though, on the tail coats of Varian's words, he nods, "It could have worked, had we drawn back far enough to be out of reach of their fire. Unfortunately, that didn't work… Our bait charged in." As is her byname now, so it was fitting. He sits back and listens to Thomas however, glad to have his brandy so he doesn't chew on his tongue in his attempt at saying anything further.

Wulfred pushes up from the chair, giving it cause to creak till finally he is upright and moving towards the wine and the cups, "A cup Sir Henric?" Wulfred asks as he sets about filling a cup rather generously, "It was by the grace of the One that my men took out the scorpion, a stray shot I should think hit home and blew apart their ammunition, but it is a fool who relies on luck. Yes…" Regardless of Henric's reply, the cup of wine, generously filled is further topped up with the sweet and strong brandy of a medicinal nature and passed off to the young Cassomir with a whisper that is still very much audible throughout the entire tent, "I guess the only thing you'll be doing till your arm heals is fucking eh?" A broad laugh erupts for all of a moment and Sir Wulfred moves back to claim a cup for himself, "Stay out of range is what we should have done, but the One blessed our foolishness. No doubt to let us learn and fight another day more wisely."

"Yes, under any other circumstances I would have left the bait to die and planned an alternative," Varian remarks with a faintly sardonic touch but in complete honesty. Unfortunately for him, it was one of perhaps a handful of times where he couldn't be allowed to let that happen, however. "We are fortunate we lost as few men as we did, and I think only thanks to Sir Wulfred's removal of the scorpion. Had it been allowed to keep raining down on us, we would be burrying a good deal more right now than we already are." For their numbers, however, they'd lost far too many for an engagement that had essentially amounted to nothing. "I will be, I think, finding a few siege engineers in the coming days. If someone is going to fire explosives at me from a tower, I would like to be able to burn that tower down without needing to run right to it."

Thomas is clearly amused by Sir Wulfred's discourse with the rather sullen Henric, but he does not address it. He is, after all, more concentrated on the issue at hand, the analysis of the battle. "Aye, my lord, that would be an excellent idea. At that point we need to begin to worry about the logistics of our supply train a bit more. I don't see us dragging the lumber with us, but the components and tools for the artillerists still needs to be trained. Mules work best, I'm told, ponies a close second. Donkeys make poor porters."

Henric's eyes swivel toward Wulfred at the offer of a cup. He already had one, but what the hell, there's always room for a second. He finishes off his brandy and switches it out for the cup that is generously poured and handed to him. The whisper has Henric crack a broad grin, actually finding himself with a laugh left in his lungs, uttering back to Wulfred with a lift of his cup, "To fucking! Since we fucked up the fighting." His eyes gleam as he takes a healthy chug of what was offered to him, going to get thoroughly sauced since the damn pain was irritating him anyway. "Let's not use the Heir for bait in the future, eh? I actually like seeing her pretty face intact…" As the scorpion bolts could've damn well ended the girl along with the rest of them.

Wulfred slumps back into his chair and stretches out, the chair giving a resigned creak of annoyance at the sudden weight of Sir Wulfred being deposited back upon its poor self, "But by the One she's brave, they won't try skulking after her now, they'll think she's coming after them, so I think that even though…" Wulfred's rumbling slows as he takes a sip of the wine, beads drizzling amidst his beard as he does so, "Yes… yes… we buggered it up so to speak, their assassination ploy with the Sokar cavalry has failed, so we damn well put an end to their plot for the time being and I'll bet she's sleeping better now than she has of late." That said Sir Wulfred continues to drink from the ever increasingly empty cup, "But yes, next time we blast the bastards into oblivion… though I do have a request to make of you Your Excellency."

A white hand reaches out to take up a cup as well, steadying it as he fills it up from the flagon before abandoning the latter and raising the former to his lips for a much needed drink. No sipping, this time. "Mules it is. Let's see if we can even find any, given how fields seem to be going up in fire with regularity now. I suppose one might argue that the soldiers who came running out might not have if they hadn't recognized her, but that feels like a poor trade for the awkward engagement that was forced," he said finally once the cup had been drawn away. "But I think we can all agree that high-priority bait should not be a standard affair, in the future," he added somewhat soberly. He took another quick drink from the glass, his grey eyes flicking over to Wulfred at the knight's words with a faintly quizzical look written across his brow. "Yes, Sir Wulfred?" The question came once the cup was lowered, of course.

"Well, my lord, I've got a large number of ponies in the Valley trained up and ready. We've got a large surplus from the mines, where they bring down ore, but they're trained…" Thomas trails off and some colour comes to his cheeks as he realises they aren't talking about ponies or mules anymore. He looks into his cup and takes a big gulp. "Oh, artillerists and bait. Aye." He falls silent, his narrow, watery blue eyes darting over to Wulfred in expectation.

"Brave is…" Henric shuts himself up before he lets the drink talk for him, grumbling whatever else he was about to say into his cups before he takes another long drink. Though he does glance over toward Wulfred, "Can you teach me how to fire one of those god forsaken hand cannons? Might as well learn to use 'em to better counter 'em." He's taken to slogging through his words, readily apparent that he's lighter weight than Wulfred when it comes to tolerating the medicial aid.

Wulfred drains the cup of wine mixed with the honey brandy which in turn ensures a flush upon his pale cheeks as the throbbing pain in his arm is dulled to such an extent that he can tuck his flask back within the sling, "I would very much like to request one of the long cannon we recovered, they are to be sent to Duval of course, but the weapons have long intrigued me and though such a weapon is of no use to me at present…" The older knight rumbles and gestures to his sling, "… given a distinct lack of two hands with which to wield it, I would be intrigued to learn how they handle compared to hand cannon." To Henric's own request, Wulfred nods, "Of course! If I can bloody well fire one, then you will certainly be able to manage it."

A very quiet, polite sort of chuckle escapes the viscount as he glances over at Thomas. "We can work out the logistics of moving those animals from hauling ore to hauling artillery in the near future. Before the next fortified cave full of bandits appears, I hope." Varian nods his head as he sets the now empty cup down on the table against which he leans. "Of course. Take what you like." There is a slight pause as he passes a hand in front of himself, gesturing to everyone in the tent. "That goes for all. Take a cannon if you wish. Consider it as payment for prevent the young Sir Corwin from becoming the new heir. I do not think the Duke will mind, given everyone's efforts."

Henric nods at Wulfred for the aid that the other will take to teach him a little about the hand cannons, offering, "I managed to salvage one from another .. incident on the road, but a second wouldn't hurt, especially if it's in better condition." Otherwise, he sips back on that drink, eyes getting a bit drowsey for it.

Thomas shrugs at the prospect of taking hand cannons. It's not that he doesn't like them as weapons; truly, they have a frightfully delicious application on the battlefield, especially when combined with good pike, good sword and shield men and good horse. And for that matter, good archers. But his house is not big enough to field a force of men with them. "I think I'd rather concentrate on continuing to retrain the Sun Shields, my lord. They lost many of their most experienced men in the War and are still not up to their old level. And not up to the snuff of the Dragon's Claws, either." He smiles.

Wulfred lifts his cup towards Varian, "Thank you your Excellency." A toast of thanks indeed and one that is soon followed by more rumbled and not in the least bit sozzled words, the old knight certainly able to pack away the booze when it counts, "To you sir, I look forward to the day we serve under you once again and we all know that day will come soon enough… I doubt we'll ever truely know peace." A thoughtful pause is given, though it is soon broken, "Which is good news really, as I'm not sure I'd serve much of a purpose if there was a true everlasting peace and yes, I'll be sure to tuck away a long cannon… not sure they had hand cannons, these beauties have range!" Oh there's a flush of vigour in the bearded knight at that prospect, "But yes, there's much for us to do. I've buried my dead and patrols must continue. Searches ordered and vigils kept.

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