Battle of Mardon [Eastern Starting Event]

[Dirty Chai]

There is a low lying hill which rises out of the freezing fens that connect the Last River with the sea; they call it a tor, or a terp according to some, for it creates dry-ground in a place otherwise devoid of it. To the east, the land rises up to high cliffs, where the men and women of Karlon's Hold live. To the west, lies the lands of the Boltons; to the north, lies the lands of the Umbers and their most northerly hold.

It is this hill that will be a battleground come the next morning, where men of the west and men of the east will clash - a sword day, an axe day. It has been a decade since these Andals beached their boats upon these shores, and they have not left. Indeed, only more of them have come. The Karlon Starks, or Karstarks, have done as they saw best fit and attempted to avoid conflict with these newcomers. All for naught, as within the decade, that lord and his heir would fall victim to the villains from beyond the sea and their black iron blades. Now, it is time to end it. The new lord of the Grey Cliffs, a mere young man, has given out a call to arms to his neighbors and kinfolk, calling his own fighting men to the Last River: Death to the Andals. Bloody will be the hill of Mardon.

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Harras looked out across the vast open marshland from the dry shoreline where his men camped. They grew by the hour, and the hope was that by dawn they would number enough to send the foreigners into the sea. Across the flat wetland lay the hill of Mardon, rising out of the delta, currently obscured by a light layer of fog. Curving, wicked trees dotted the low-lying moorland. No matter where you found it, Harras reckoned, the Last River was a powerful place. Many claimed it was a god of its own.

The new lord of Karhold was tall, like his forebears, with wide shoulders. However, he had thinner frame, though laden with well-trained sword-muscles and layers of furs and skins it was. Straight black hair hung from his pale head, dividing into several different braids as it passed his shoulders, the longest one hanging down to his belly. He had a gloomy look, and pale blue eyes looked out across the field from behind a pointed nose.

Harras was anxious to meet the enemy. The enemy carried his father's sword. The blade of Karlon. His father had carried it into battle and died. Harras would have it back. Harras will have it back, hanging from his waist, not strapped to the shield of some sea-raider.

[Iron Aquilifer]

They came from the north. The far north, beyond remorse and regret and weakness. From hills ever capped in snow and forests whose trees are as wide as they are tall. A Giant came above them, a brown monstrosity chained and bloody. The red was cloth, dripped with blood; the giant was fur, the pelt of some defeated wolf of the deep forests; and the chains were true iron, clanking and clattering to the beat of the march. A Giant came afore them, a brown monstrosity grunting and howling like the wild packs of the plains. His pelt was coal and mud and snow, as clean as it was regal, as rugged as it was thick. Bronze chain bound at his wrists ended in great balls of iron, spiked and weeping some animal's vitality. Astride his mount of pain and grief and sorrow Lord Umber came.

The call had been answered, by fishermen and herdsmen, by crofters and hunters, by nobles and commoners, first-men all. Bloody is their banners. Bloody is their intent. No words but the death-cry as ram horn is put to lip, as sheep flesh is struck by stick. Sounding like some frenzied owl or stampeding aurochs the Umber host descend on the Karstark camp as wolves to a fire.

Cregan did not smile as his horse dragged itself through the wasteland, nor did his eyes catch the glint of pleasure. He huffed and he sighed, he grunted and he growled. Osric was at his left, Harmond at his right. The younger men were as large as their father, though neither held his gaze, nor stood against his desire. There was no victory to be had in defying him, now or ever. So they followed a giant, above and afore, to battle as was the desire of greater men.


OOC: 250 Light Cavalry, 250 Heavy Infantry, 250 Archers (1,000pts)

[Dirty Chai]

[OOC: I've divided Karstark's points (also 2,250 according to the levy/militia suggestion) into 1,000 Heavy Infantry and 250 Archers. Adding Karstark's vassals adds another 500 points, so I'll give that to another 250 Heavy Infantry. Also you have an actual giant in chains, or is it "banner" of a giant?]

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"The Last Hearth has come, lord."

Harras turned, peering into the fog towards where the warrior pointed. He waited for a moment, listening through the silence, and was rewarded eventually with confirming sounds from beyond a misty ridge where a gnarled tree sat - the voices of men, the rhythmic rumble of moccasins and boots, and even the barking of hounds. A horse's neigh echoed through the mire, eerily dancing from pool to frozen pool.

"Send a man to find the Umbers," the new Karstark ordered another of his shield-bearing retainers, "tell them I wish to meet with them."

[Iron Aquilifer]

"The Last Hearth has come, lord."

Harras turned, peering into the fog towards where the warrior pointed. He waited for a moment, listening through the silence, and was rewarded eventually with confirming sounds from beyond a misty ridge where a gnarled tree sat - the voices of men, the rhythmic rumble of moccasins and boots, and even the barking of hounds. A horse's neigh echoed through the mire, eerily dancing from pool to frozen pool.

"Send a man to find the Umbers," the new Karstark ordered another of his shield-bearing retainers, "tell them I wish to meet with them."

OOC: If only it could be Just a banner made of cloth (with real blood ) a pelt and chains. Change light inf to heavy.

Cregan brought only his sons to meet Karstark, the heavy metal sounding each step. It was at least a strange sight to behold. "Lord Karstark?" The Lord of Last Hearth asked through scab and beard, his voice gravel striking the cliff face. "We come to answer your call." He did not look around the same way his sons did. No, he had seen such arrays before, many a time if the ghosts of the past let him see them in clarity. "I place myself at your disposal."

[Dirty Chai]

[OOC: I'm just going to allow people to show up at the same time so that we can all interact freely]

Karstark, Lord of the Grey Cliffs, was as old as the second of Umber's sons, yet was the great chieftain of this host now. Umber would have been familiar with old lord of Karhold who had died by Andal hands some months ago. Before Cregan and his sons stood a confident, tall young man with a brooding, pale look and long, strikingly-straight raven hair which fell past his neck into many braids hanging down his torso.

"Umbers," greeted Harras Karstark, who reached out an exposed hand from behind the layers of fur and pelt in greeting, "I am glad to see the men of Last Hearth will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the men of Karlon's Hold."

After he spoke, a warrior whispered into the raven-haired lord's ear. Harras then muttered back to him, before allowing him to stride off into the camp.

"Horsemen too have come from southwest just now, from the Wolf's Den no less."

Those riders were met as they approached the growing host, and its leader invited to meet with the Karstarks and Umbers.

[OOC: I'll give it another 12 hours or so before we start the battle, but I don't think anyone else is coming]

[Iron Aquilifer]

Karstark, Lord of the Grey Cliffs, was as old as the second of Umber's sons, yet was the great chieftain of this host now. Umber would have been familiar with old lord of Karhold who had died by Andal hands some months ago. Before Cregan and his sons stood a confident, tall young man with a brooding, pale look and long, strikingly-straight raven hair which fell past his neck into many braids hanging down his torso.

"Umbers," greeted Harras Karstark, who reached out an exposed hand from behind the layers of fur and pelt in greeting, "I am glad to see the men of Last Hearth will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the men of Karlon's Hold."

After he spoke, a warrior whispered into the raven-haired lord's ear. Harras then muttered back to him, before allowing him to stride off into the camp.

"Horsemen too have come from southwest just now, from the Wolf's Den no less."

Those riders were met as they approached the growing host, and its leader invited to meet with the Karstarks and Umbers.

Cregan took the offered hand with his own paw. "Battle is the true mark of a man," he answered by way of explanation. "I will see if I leave my lands in the right hands." Both of his sons tensed at the words.

It was Osric who smiled at the arrival of the Greystark, whereas his father merely scowled as was his way. A great pack are we amassing here. It was far removed from the paltry warbands mustered to deal with the Free Folk, or traitors among the crofter families. Indeed it was more an army than most lords assembled.

[Poach]

[OOC: Aiming to establish Tormund's own cavalry band as per his bio.]

A contingent of Greystark banners were sighted approaching the meeting place from the south, having followed the White Knife north into the Lonely Hills before striking eastwards into Karstark territory where the ravens had come asking for aid against Andal warbands establishing footholds along the coast.

Six hundred light horse flew under the grey wolf, the men of the Bloody Wolves, Tormund Greystark's own warband both famous and infamous in the White Knife region for their brutal campaigns of subjugation and terror against the often-troublesome inhabitants of the region, both native and interloper, resentful over Winterfell's ever expanding grasp.

The Bloody Wolf himself rode ahead of his warriors towards the growing camp of Winterfell's bannermen.

Tormund Greystark

"The Bloody Wolf", commanding 600 light cavalry as his personal warband named the "Bloody Wolves" after their captain. Battles +3 Logistician +2 Duels +2 Survival +1

[Oznerol]

ooc: 2,250 pp. 750 Heavy Infantry, 500 Archers.

Horns roaring and a column of men marching at good pace appear on the horizon. They march under the Bolton banners, red on pink, a screaming flayed man. Considering the size of the host, House Bolton had send a sizable part of its levies. Most the men were clad in lamellar and mail, wore furry cloaks and protected their heads with round helmets. They wield fearsome long shafted axes and longswords. The Dreadfort had also sent five hundred archers to bolster the Karstarks' ranks.

[Dirty Chai]

Mustered warriors from all over the region watched and paused on the outskirts of their camp as men from the Dreadfort marched in. The sun had set, and so most of the host was settling down now into their tents and shelters in the wooded, dry part of the swamp. A few looked up from boiling kettles over a fire, and a light roar of approval came from a small section of the camp, a cluster of drunk men raising flagons of mead to the newcomers.

A few thanes, armored in bronze ringlets, presumably the shieldbeares of Karhold, pointed the leader of the Bolton host in the direction of their lord while the Dreadfort army setup camp for the night. Tomorrow would be the battle, just before dawn.

[Oznerol]

The leader of the host is a grizzled veteran, a long-bearded, white-haired man. He wears a lamellar armor and was clad in a furry cloak, made from a bear's pelt. The man was truly old, but imposing and still robust. Hother Bolton, grandfather to Harrion, heir to the Dreadfort.

[Poach]

Tormund entered the camp and approached the largest of the tents, where the flags of a dozen Houses great and small flew and the commanders were to be found. He dismounted his horse while it was still moving with practiced grace, allowing the beast to trot off until one of his riders moved up and took it by the reins.

"We weren't far south of Long Lake when word reached us that Karhold called for aid," he announced to the assembled Lords, "The Bloody Wolves of House Greystark answer the call."

As he reached who he assumed to be Lord Karstark, judging by the sigils, he held out his hand, wrapped in thick riding gloves covered by a toughened leather bracer, "Tormund Greystark."

Sent from my SM-A310F using Tapatalk

[Dirty Chai]

Everyone see here.
Karstark's new army (his own militia + his vassals' 50% militias, creating a total of 1,250 points) is 625 Heavy infantry.

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Karsark nodded in greeting to the Bolton and the Greystark, his head turning from one angle to the other.

The young chieftain then took the hand of the Greystark who offered it, his expression remaining indifferent.
"Harras son of Harron," he said, "I am glad to see more fighting men this side of the Last River. Mine kith hath been fighting the foe since I was a boy." He wasn't a boy now, tall and wide-shouldered though thin he was; raven hair hung past his shoulders in many braids.

"The stables in the 'hold," he explained, glancing over at the Bolton, speaking of Karhold, "are pithy. Your horsemen will be of great help on the dry ground." Much of the battlefield was wetland, deep marshes, but at the center stood a hill - it would be a fight for the dry ground.

"And you come from the Dreadfort?" Harras finally asked of the elderly man who wore laminated strips of leather and hide for armor.

[Poach]

"What of the foe? Where is he? How many has he?" asked Tormund zealously, looking across the marshland, still shrouded in mist, "That hill is surrounded by marsh, easily defensible. If he is up there, horsemen will be useless and his archers will cut us to ribbons as we trudge through the bog: if he is up there, he has picked his position expertly."



Several of Tormund’s own had also joined the growing group of military men discussing the battle to come. They were a rugged bunch, used to sleeping rough and making do in the field for extensive periods. Every man carried a multitude of weapons: short swords, knives, throwing axes tucked into their belts, a spear, with their horses adorned with throwing spears and some bows. Tormund’s band attracted and grew rogues and thugs, the result of waging constant war against the vast hinterlands of the White Knife and the Bite coast.

Sent from my SM-A310F using Tapatalk

[Dirty Chai]

"He is," Harras confirmed, glancing over at the hilltop with bated eyes, "but our warriors can meet their scildweall with a wolf's head."

A wolf's head, or a boar's snout to some; the Andals would later call it a 'wedge.' The bravest and and most well-armed of the warriors were at the front, formed in a triangular spearhead. The timid and weaker of the fighters would naturally drift to the rear and center of the formation, and then it would pounce forward, aiming to puncture through any wall of shields an enemy might produce.

Karstark half-raised his left hand, gesturing in the direction of the hillock.
"Still, we cannot defeat them on the hill. Your men can dismount if you like and attack from the swamp with the rest of us, but keeping them mounted will be useful if we are to push them from the hill. We must force them from their hill, either by force of arms or by cunning."

All around were the shieldbearers of Karhold - retainers armed with great elongated, heavy shields with sizable bronze bosses; large battle axes, long spears, and good short swords for stabbing. A few had long swords, but those weren't popular with the men of Karlon's Hold who preferred to fight in tight formation, shield to shield. Horsemanship was almost unheard of as well, as east of these swamp lands the Karstark fisc rose up into a high mountainous region, facing out to sea with grim cliffs.

[Oznerol]

Everyone see here.
Karstark's new army (his own militia + his vassals' 50% militias, creating a total of 1,250 points) is 625 Heavy infantry.

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Karsark nodded in greeting to the Bolton and the Greystark, his head turning from one angle to the other.

The young chieftain then took the hand of the Greystark who offered it, his expression remaining indifferent.
"Harras son of Harron," he said, "I am glad to see more fighting men this side of the Last River. Mine kith hath been fighting the foe since I was a boy." He wasn't a boy now, tall and wide-shouldered though thin he was; raven hair hung past his shoulders in many braids.

"The stables in the 'hold," he explained, glancing over at the Bolton, speaking of Karhold, "are pithy. Your horsemen will be of great help on the dry ground." Much of the battlefield was wetland, deep marshes, but at the center stood a hill - it would be a fight for the dry ground.

"And you come from the Dreadfort?" Harras finally asked of the elderly man who wore laminated strips of leather and hide for armor.

"Born and bred between his eerie walls, Lord Karstark"

There was nothing soft on this Bolton, even his cheekbones were sharp and chiseled, his often-broken nose resembled a beak. His armor was old, but functional. His sword's pommel was heavy and decorated.

"Lady Cerenna permitted me to march in your support with as many men as I could assemble in such a short time"

He grimaced.

"He is," Harras confirmed, glancing over at the hilltop with bated eyes, "but our warriors can meet their scildweall with a wolf's head."

A wolf's head, or a boar's snout to some; the Andals would later call it a 'wedge.' The bravest and and most well-armed of the warriors were at the front, formed in a triangular spearhead. The timid and weaker of the fighters would naturally drift to the rear and center of the formation, and then it would pounce forward, aiming to puncture through any wall of shields an enemy might produce.

Karstark half-raised his left hand, gesturing in the direction of the hillock.
"Still, we cannot defeat them on the hill. Your men can dismount if you like and attack from the swamp with the rest of us, but keeping them mounted will be useful if we are to push them from the hill. We must force them from their hill, either by force of arms or by cunning."

All around were the shieldbearers of Karhold - retainers armed with great elongated, heavy shields with sizable bronze bosses; large battle axes, long spears, and good short swords for stabbing. A few had long swords, but those weren't popular with the men of Karlon's Hold who preferred to fight in tight formation, shield to shield. Horsemanship was almost unheard of as well, as east of these swamp lands the Karstark fisc rose up into a high mountainous region, facing out to sea with grim cliffs.

Hearing the younger men speak Hother realized the Andals were a thread to be reckoned. However, Hother had killed more that one Andal during his long life.

"Your formation could work, Lord Karstark. But remember those men are driven by a ferocious zeal, an unyielding Faith. They aren't likely to rout unless their leader is killed or they are flanked. They won't rout even if their shieldwall is hardpressed"

He clicks his tongue. Everyone knew a battle really was about who routed first.

"Those horsemen you brought, combined with my heavy infantrymen might do a short work of these Andals"

He spat on the ground.

"However, do they have riders too? I've seen those bastards in action, trashing shieldwalls with their charge"

[Poach]

[OOC: Oz you need to re-design a force with 1,000 militia points.]

"I'm not riding my horsemen through a swamp under arrow fire." said Tormund bluntly, "That is foolish: half my men will be dead before we even reach the solid ground and half again will see their horses break legs attempting to navigate such unsteady terrain. These Andals have positioned themselves well: our approach will be slow and exposed as we pick our way through the swamp."

[OOC: Reading your opening post the Andals have been here a decade along the shorelines, generally living in peace, and now beginning to come into conflict with the First Men.]

"I say we ride the coast, burn their ships and their villages," he said, "Draw them out of this marsh and onto open ground."

[Dirty Chai]

[definitely not peace. They came, were allowed to settle in a small enclave, but that lasted for a few years at most. From then on and until now, they've been at war with the Karstarks, who've had trouble removing them but underestimated the threat and the old lord was eventually killed just before this.]

"They are fearsome horsemen," Harras explained, looking between the other chieftains and nobles, "but they do not have many horses with them."

Karstark frowned.
"Still, the open ground is dangerous," he said, looking to Bolton for a moment, "Do not make the same mistake as my father; do not leave the safety of the shieldwall, lest they run you down. They are not led by fervor, but by greed. They want to settle here. They claim that winged serpents are eating their homeland."

[Oznerol]

ooc: 500 Heavy Infantry, then.

Maybe the fault was of Karstark, who had let himself be outmanouvered.

"That would be indeed a risky move. Unless we find a path on these swamps, but I don't know this terrain at all. But without the horsemen we might not be able to hunt them down like the pigs they are"

Said Bolton.

"But... aye, nothing like killing women and child to bring men from their lairs. And it could yield a pretty loot as well. We could take the children as workforce and their belongings would pay the costs of this campaign"

He looked at Lord Karstark.

"Do we have any sails?"

[Dirty Chai]

"Back at Karlon's Hold, up the firth, there are ships, days from here." Harras answered, glancing about once again. A hand rested upon his sword-belt.
"The enemy knows these fens, but so do my men. If the horsemen of the Wolf's Den move to attack their villages, they will surely leave the hill, and we can give chase."

He began gesturing, grabbing his overcoat briefly, to make a point.
"They all wear armor, not just their shieldbearers. The rings are smaller and larger in number. But their metal is black and brittle, and breaks underneath the strength of our bronze. In the swamp, they'll be weighed down by their armor, and we will catch them on the run."

[Poach]

"Then I shall make for the coast," said Tormund confidently, "Andal ships and homes will be torched, their women and children run down or enslaved. When the mist clears I will ride: I want them to see me riding in the direction of their homes."