A time for wolves...

[Barbarian Nobility]

Prince Vladymir hocked deep from his throat and spat on the near extinct fire, dampened by the miserable English rain that ceasely fell upon his camp...What a god-forsaken land this was; since landing upon the shores of England with 10, 000 men he had encountered nought but muddy fields, near entirely abandoned villages, the only common folk he had seen appeared deseased or emaciated by famine...and what was worse was that not a single lord had ridden out in embassy to him, not a single army had been sent by the absent King of England to meet him in battle...Seemingly no one cared to stop his march upon the capital to claim England for himself - For that was his intended prize, and a rich prize it would be for the fourth son of the Holy Roman Emperor who was in line to inherit nothing a mere ten years ago. Fortutitous circumstance had seen him rise in notoriety and wealth, which had in turn provided him to the means to hire an army of mercenaries and cross the channel to make claim to that which he had no claim at all.

England was a ruin, and yet no else had dared to do what he was doing. The French were to preoccupied with their own extravagances - something that would prove their downfall once Prince Vladymir was finished with the English if he had anything to say about it...The Spanish had enough of their own concerns maintaining their tenuous grip on the peninsular against the Moors and guarding their northern expanses against the French should they decided to venture south of the Pyrenese...And that left Prince Vladymir, the only man in Europe with any apparent stomach for conquest...

And so Vladymir set about trying to resurrect his fire in this miserable English weather in the hopes of perhaps roasting some capon...

Maybe this would be his lucky day, and someone would finally ride to meet him. Or perhaps when he arrived in the capital three days hence he would find it utterly abandoned much like the rest of the country...

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Greetings all, long time no see thought I might have a stab at this game and see where it takes us given it appears to be almost entirely inactive.

So far as the army goes, i call it at 10, 000 men - a mixed force of Flemish, Danish and Germans.

[Ace_General]

Ivar Ivanovich Pugachev, a Rus Mercenary captain hailing from Pskov of Swedish extraction, turns to Vladymir and says,

My Kynaz, I has saw no resitance to our scouts, I see that perhaps this coutnry was hit by, how you say, plauge. Perhaps we find shelter for our troops before the cold and rain and sickness take us.

[King of History]

Meanwhile, deep in the woods Robert Casterford was making a very different kind of decision from the the confines of his woodland holdfast. When waves of plague had washed over England's shores with unstoppable force Robert, and several other knights, had retreated with their households into the depths of the thick forest. There they had erected holdfasts of their own to wait out the plagues...or perhaps prepare for a new England. Over time Robert's ranks had been swollen by the arrival of survivors, those who had proven immune to the plagues, and had managed to wander into the vicinity of the holdfast. Now an altogether different quandary faced Robert. Men speaking strange tongues had been seen on the London road by his scouts. A lot of men speaking strange tongues.

Robert pondered this strange occurrence for a few more moments before giving his orders. The scouts were to be double, and they were to shadow the strange army. Robert had no fear they would be captured, his scouts were ex poachers and huntsmen, they were bred for being invisible in the woods. Aye, this plague had made for some strange bed fellows. Word would also be sent to the other hidden holdfasts, the other forest lords would need to know of these tidings. As men moved quickly to execute his commands, Robert wondered what the true meaning of all this was.

[Pyrrhus the Molossian]

OOC: Any role I might take?

Hell I'll moderate for you. A simple roll affected by your rp and tactical and present conditions sound fine?

[Ace_General]

After camping out for several days after Prince Vladiymir took ill and the army was left leaderless, Ivar Ivanovich decides to take command and orders the captains to assemble and says to them(anyone wants to hop into the RP you can go here)

This damned land seems to be cursed with cold and mud and sickness and god knows what. We need to get to shelter before the cold does us in. Our scouts have reported empty firepits and tracks in the woods, so I dont think we are alone here, most likley the country degenerated to banditry and savgry after the lords died, so we must get to cover so we dont get our throats cut in the night

Less then half a days march, their is a mostly abandoned town. I say we march their and hole up and wait for the weather to clear and figure out what exactly happened to this land. And I want a heavy screen of Skirmishers and bowmen up ahead and on the flanks, I dont want to get caught with our pants down by whatever out there

[Pyrrhus the Molossian]

Yes? No?

[Ace_General]

Yeah, you can be a forrest lord or a captain in the army or anything else you can think of, heck, perhaps some kind of apocalyptical fanatical cult would be cool too

[Pyrrhus the Molossian]

I asked if you would like me to mod? Didn't you see my post above?

[Gandalfus]

OOC: I would leave it for now, I think they want a scenario determined by RP and not rolls.

IC: The captain of the Norman company who had joined up with the army; Richard Stafford, returned from a scouting mission from the north with fifty riders. Dismounting as he approached Ivan, he gave a swift bow before speaking to the head of the army.

My liege, a dangerous fog has obscured our vision up ahead. From what I could see the town was empty, but who knows what lies in wait.

[King of History]

Ooc: Well seeing as we are flying by the seat of our pants, you can rp of you want. But you've been chosen as official die role if there is a need. :p

[Dirty Chai]

Alain of Josilin, or Alan as the Anglish pronounced, was the second son of a family in Morbihan who claimed descent from St. Malo and held a castle, or rather a small tower, on the river Oud, someways north of Gwened.

He had taken up the life of a soldier of fortune, and took ride with a group of rowdy knights from Trégor.
Alain ended up leading them into the arms of Prince Vladymir, which was a welcome if not lucrative employment.

Things soured for the Bretons, however, after the upstart easterner took over, and had tenuous (at best) relations with the Norman barbarians who strutted about in the army.

And so, about 500 riders (though not the greatest of riders, coming from the bogged forests of Breizh) rode west, as scouts, but didn't return.
Alain had to seek out English employment.

Godless Normans. They should just go drown in the 'ar mor'.

[Gandalfus]

Richard sneered at the Breton, recalling how his old grandfather who came over with the Conqueror always used to tell tales of them filled with contempt; how the fiends raided Normandy with impunity before being slaughtered by the great Dukes of Normandy, and how the godless fools fight only for coin and have no honour. Ironic, Richard thought, that now he was himself a mercenary, but that didn't make him any less at ease nearby the Bretons.

[Trot]

An Irish man Seamus O'Donnal arrives at the head of a small band of Irish mercenaries. His hand rested on his sword and he strolls through the camp eyeing the other men around him.

[Ace_General]

OOC: Mod away Phyrrus, I was to messed up to make an OOC comment last night

Ivar blankly looks at the norman and brenton's fit with minor disapproval, then says to Richard

Understood.

The Rus looks over the road and his army and says

Alright, we march now for town. Richard, you take your rider and the light armed horsemens, make screen. O'Donnal, you, you infantry, any bowmen, and other footmen that are not heavily armored. I shall be riding in the center with the heavy troops, you make contact, send a messenger back to my postion instead of fighting on your own, we will support you. We must keep moving and not get bogged down if we get out of or conquer this god forsaken Island.

And when we get to the town, have the light infantry look over the place, make sure theres no traps or any other evil this Island could hold.

[Pyrrhus the Molossian]

Just ask OOCly for a roll and it will be done. Once you start rping the actual battle I'll start modding in earnest. This looks very fun.

[Gandalfus]

Richard gives a curt bow, hand on his sword.

As you say, my lord.

He then turns, mounts his horse, and calls for his men to ride with him to the front of the army in order to screen the advance. He sends a small group of horsemen up even further ahead, seeing if hey could sniff out the enemy.

OOC: some kind of scouting roll

[Ace_General]

OOC: Im open to negotiating too

[Dirty Chai]

OOC: A roll to ambush those scouts?

The Bretons, after finding difficulty with the local villagers and their funny racism, decided to screw with the stupid Normans, and waited in the thick forests along the roads.

[Pyrrhus the Molossian]

OOC: Wow. I rolled for BF's ambush 19. However I rolled a 20 for their detecting it. You manage to get in ambush position but as soon as the scouts come by you are detected and they get the jump on you. They can either run and or attack your group.


IC: In a weird twist the ambushers are now the ones suprised! The scouts seeing the ambushers have the choice to either catch them unawares (not total suprise) or retreat.

[Dirty Chai]

OOC: 500 riders against a 'small group of horsemen' however

The Breton horsemen, knights and seigneurs alike, fling themselves from the cover of the trees on horseback, lances bristling and swords unsheathing.