DF Novices Team-B, Session 4 - Diary of Yorgen Gant

  Here is a write-up from the player of Yorgen of the B-Team session from last week. 

Session Date:    Thursday 10 August 2023

Party roster:

Yorgen Gant, human knight, 65 points (PC)
Ulokk, half-ogre thief, 64 points (PC)
Maximilian "Stout" Grupher III, goblin cleric, 65 points (PC)

Campaign Date:    28 June, Year 645 of the Vycenaean Empire.

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Diary of Yorgen Gant:

Allies make us stronger. This is a truism Ser Landonn lives by, and one he has managed to knock into my head throughout the years I was his squire. Quite literally sometimes, Ser Landonn does not suffer fools, but he also lives what he teaches. So be it through shining example or percussive repetition, I have taken to hear the lesson that, with allies, a knight is much stronger than alone. This makes the fact that Ser Landonn chose to ride off in rescue of Ser Callowmere by himself all the more vexing, but I digress. Allies. I seem to gathering quite a few of them.

And a good thing too, because although young Stout is most certainly doing his best, there is a limit to how much the blessings of Ishtanna can heal a headstrong Squire who chose to charge into a group of Orcs without support from his companions. I shall say again; ow. When we set off in pursuit of the warband we are now most certainly tracking, I am absolutely not feeling my best, but continue on in stoic silence. My burdens are mine to bear.

How am I certain we are tracking a warband? The shields we recovered from the last group we fought are identical to the ones we defeated earlier today. Two skirmishes in one afternoon, the goddess of war and peace is leading us into quite a bit of war, I fear. I am almost hoping for a bit of peace in which to heal my injuries when Fenn, our inimitable tracker, motions that he espies movement ahead. Through the foliage I glimpse a wolf, flitting in and out of my view in the way of natural predators. Fenn must have formidable senses indeed to have spotted the beast.

Beasts.

Multiple.

I have a healthy respect for wolves. A pack of hungry wolves can take down a fully armoured knight without too much effort, a feat only rivaled by the mighty bear. If these wolves mean us harm, and I find it hard to believe that they do not, then we stand little to no chance of surviving this encounter. And yet, behold, from the forest ahead strides a young woman, seemingly known to Fenn. The two converse for a while in a language I do not understand, while the wolves watch us with interest. Young Stout does not like this one bit and sensibly seeks refuge behind Ulokk and I. Of course, should the beasts decide to attack then I fear there is little either of us can do for him, aside from buying time for his little legs to carry him as far away from here as possible.

After some times, Fenn returns to us and informs us that the young woman is known by the name of Oleanne, and she too is known to the Ranger. It seems Ser Landonn is not the only one who highly values his allies. Alarmingly, Oleanna apparently has seen no trace of the Ranger. I inquire if this means we are looking in the wrong direction, and Fenn gives me a look of such exasperation that I suddenly feel like a young boy again, under the gaze of Ser Landonn. With infinite patience, as if addressing a particularly obtuse child, Fenn explains to me that Oleanna not seeing the Ranger does not mean the Ranger did not pass this way. It is far more likely, he avers, that the Ranger did indeed pass this way, but did so unseen. What Oleanne hasn't seen, he explains, she cannot recount, because she has not seen it. Ergo, according to our tracker friend, if the Ranger did come this way and Oleanne was not in a position to perceive him, he nevertheless passed through here, and Oleanne would not know that he had.

This seems to pass for perfectly logical to those more skilled than I in wilderness survival. I feel thoroughly lost.

What Oleanne has perceived, however, is an Orcish camp nearby. An Orcish camp, moreoever, with a prisoner. I feel a surge of hope until I realise two things in quick succession. One, that Oleanne would most certainly have recognised the Ranger and therefore it cannot be him being held captive. Two, that my oath to protect innocents absolutely requires me to attempt to rescue this prisoner. Chivalry is a way of life, it is not optional.

A brief discussion ensues as to how to approach this matter. Soon, though, the question is put to me. I may not be able to track someone through a forest, I might become thoroughly lost navigating through terrain without signposts, and every tree rather looks alike to me... but I can formulate a stratagem to assault an enemy fortification or camp. It seems to me as logical and simple as breathing, and for a moment I am baffled that my companions seem to find it a difficult proposition. And while before I was a squire blundering through the woods at the mercy of a tracker while trying not to trip over every tree root, now I am once more the knight to be who has made it his life's calling to destroy his enemies, whoever they might be and wherever they might hide.

Oleanne claims to have seen up to a dozen Orcs. Nearly a dozen or up to a dozen? A dozen or more? How much more? The answers are not forthcoming. It is easy to over or underestimate a group of enemies, and so I cannot rely on that information. Who is the prisoner? Unknown. How is the camp defended? Unknown. I must assume there are sentries and guards, watch posts, pickets... in my mind, I begin to plan a campaign. But all depends on accurate information, information we do not possess. Moreoever, darkness will be upon us soon, and while Ulokk and young Stout might have some facility with seeing in the dark, the rest of us absolutely do not. Well... possibly the wolves.

And that means we cannot proceed immediately, nor can we assault the camp at night. That would give the advantage to the Orcs, no matter how many of them might be recumbent in sleep, and their superior numbers would soon tell. All we would do is add to their stockade or their larder. Young Stout briefly suggests posing as a Goblin slave and spy for us, until Ulokk asks him a question in what I may only assume is fluid Goblin tongue. Stout seems unfamiliar with the language, and has it explained to him that a Goblin unable to speak the most common of Goblin languages will soon begin to be very suspicious to the Orcs, assuming they even keep Goblin slaves. We then have to explain to him that a deafmute Goblin slave, which he proposes to pose as, would be very unlikely to be kept as a slave. Much as I admire his courage, and the originality of his plan, it cannot be.

Our only option then is Fenn. I know the man is adept at being unseen and unheard. So I propose for him to make his way to a place where he can see the Orc camp, observe what details he can, and then return to us with the details. I give him a list of things to look out for, and I have no doubt when he sets off that we will soon know what we need to know. The plan, then, is to camp nearby, wait until dawn, and then raid the camp while the Orcs are still half asleep. Extermination cannot be our goal unless we find the going much easier than I fear it will be, and the main task must be to free the captive and then flee from the wrath of the Orcs.

All seems well. Oleanne, having spotted something in my demeanour, even calls me over to her side in a flurry of gestures, and hands me a bottle of liquid. Trusting this new ally of ours, I drink the brew and find my wounds healing at an astonishing rate. I thank her in as many ways as I can contrive, hoping that one of my expressions of gratitude will translate into something she understands, and I am engage in this pantomime when Ulokk spots motion ahead, and warns us to Fenn is returning.

Too soon.

Much too soon!

Fearing the worst, I gear for battle. And indeed my worst fears are soon realised, as Fenn is running pell mell back towards us, pursued by what I can only imagine is an alerted horde of angry Orcs. It is the worst possible outcome... fighting superior numbers in mostly open terrain, at a time when their superior eye sight gives them a distinct advantage. I whisper a quick prayer to Ishtanna and go into battle, shouting at my companions to form a line by the first defensive position I can find.

As before, I shall spare you the details of the fight, save that I am still alive to tell you that the Orcs were routed. Six of them, in fact, of which four will never plague anyone ever again. It was a combination of swift movement on the battlefield, the wolves loping into the archers to tear them apart, and Ulokk quite frighteningly stepping casually behind at least one Orc and giving the warrior a very close shave with those knives he carries. Somewhere during that fight Stout proclaimed a blessing of Ishtanna over both myself and Fenn, and I felt my sword arm rise and fall without hesitation or fatigue, bringing the rage and skill of a defender of the innocent to the Orcs who have chosen to despoil this land. A few more chips out of my shield, but wood may be mended far more swiftly than flesh.

Now, though, we are at an impasse. If our count is correct, we have done for half or slightly more than half of the Orc encampment in a furious fight that lasted less than half a minute. But it is impossible to press our momentum, seeing how Oleanne's wolves are injured, and night is rapidly falling. I suspect it will be up to me to devise our final stratagem, but first I must hear what Fenn has to say...