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Post by Gandalf on Jul 22, 2023 10:40:09 GMT -5
 Two armies approach, one from north and one from south. Aloft they bear their swirling banners of swirling dragons and snarling bears, their spears glistening in the summer's golden rays. They are the men of the North, men of war and death, oath-bound to die in the service of their lord and King under the sight of the Gods, who watch down from their heavenly seats as mortals ride to meet their doom. To them, the outcome is already known, but warriors kiss the pendants at their throats all the same and mumble quiet prayers for victory. Priests warble their prayers towards the skies, spilling the blood of lambs and chickens in a sacral invocation for divine favour. All portents said that it would be a bloody day, for the sun that morning had risen up and cast a crimson warning across the skies. The invaders from Beornice would meet their Deiran opponents near the fortress of Caetrath, where several winters before the armies of the Goddodin had met a bloody end at the end of Northern spears. On that day the Kings had fought as one, and was a day well remembered for the great slaughter that they wreaked amongst their foes. They would meet scarcely a few miles from the same battleground, on an otherwise unremarkable field that sloped gently westwards towards the mountains; one Scíra led the riders that foretold the Bernician advance, just as Ælfric led those of Deira. They would be the first men of the two armies to catch sight of the other, each being surrounded by several chosen men picked for their haste and keen eyes.
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Post by Pinkerton on Jul 22, 2023 14:28:49 GMT -5
It was he that first saw the Deirans. The Snake.
"Hmm"
Scíra, like an eagle, trained his eyes on the foes, trying to get a sense of their numbers and their kind. But he also scanned the land, the air, the temperature, in search of an advantage for the Beornicians. As he did that, he ordered with a cold shout for his fastest man to let Æthelfrith know that they had spotted the enemy.
OoC: Sense (d10) roll for the geography and also a Sense (d10) for scouting the Deirans?
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 22, 2023 16:18:48 GMT -5
It was he that first saw the Deirans. The Snake. "Hmm"
Scíra, like an eagle, trained his eyes on the foes, trying to get a sense of their numbers and their kind. But he also scanned the land, the air, the temperature, in search of an advantage for the Beornicians. As he did that, he ordered with a cold shout for his fastest man to let Æthelfrith know that they had spotted the enemy. OoC: Sense (d10) roll for the geography and also a Sense (d10) for scouting the Deirans? The Snake spies a dozen men on horseback rushing up towards the Bernician army from the south; far behind them glimmer the spears of the Deirans, a host that numbers perhaps equal or more to the numbers brought by the Bernicians. This was a good ground for battle. If the sloping hill to the west could be taken, it offered a commanding position above the Roman road that ran northwards up towards The Wall. The Deirans would be forced to remove the Beornicians from the hill, or else retreat. It was a warm day. A fine day for fighting, with little wind and no sign of a cloud in the sky. oznerol Ælfric, through his good eye, would spot Scrifa's horsemen watching them from afar. fairies wear boots 👢 A rider reaches the King of Beornice declaring that the Snake has spotted the foe riding from the south.
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Post by Pinkerton on Jul 22, 2023 17:05:19 GMT -5
The Snake, true to his nature, attempts a ruse. Half his riders would gallop eastwards, trying to pique the interest of the Deirans, while the other half, led by him, would dismount and stealthily make their way up to the hill, to hold it until the rest of the Bearnician force arrived.
Deceive (d8) for the ruse: rolled a 4
Sneak (d8) for the sneaking (lol): rolled a 7
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 23, 2023 13:34:19 GMT -5
Æþelfriþ cyning rode at the front of his warband accompanied by a small handful of heorþġenēatas, his closest and most trusted ġesīþas. The force had been mustered in the fields south of Bebbanburh and slithered its way down to the vale of Eoforwic, passing the River Tees the River Tyne; a banner held aloft in the cyning’s presence depicted a sword-bearing fighting-man - the beorn in Beornice - though these æþelingas equally looked as the head of a great wyrm, a draca hunting down its targeted prey. fairies wear boots 👢 A rider reaches the King of Beornice declaring that the Snake has spotted the foe riding from the south. Æþelfriþ’s ġenēatas praised the rider and bade the man take water before returning to Scíra, and the cyning himself raised a hand to wave towards the closest horn-blower, signaling a clarion call to alert the rest of the body of the hild-wyrm to its impending struggle. A cnapa - a boy - sprinted up to the cyning’s side and held his Grimhelm (d8) aloft, and Æþelfriþ took it into his lap, readying to conceal his face and take on the grim visor and all its violent authority. “Ready yourselves for battle, warriors; we will pick up the pace and make towards the Snake’s position.”The new command echoed down far behind them as ġesīþas ordered the spear-bearers to pick up their feet.
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Post by Royal Joker on Jul 23, 2023 14:32:34 GMT -5
The smell of the coming bloodbath was already heavy in the air, a mix of earth, sweat and iron. Murmurs of prayer could be heard from the ranks, asking Woden or Tiw or Thunor for strength of arms or a glorious victory. For the kneeling gesith among King Aethelfrith's entourage, his words were directed to the true Lord.
"...Et ne nos inducas in tentationem sed libera nos a malo. Amen."
Beornheard kissed his ring, adorned with the Chi Rho, rose to his feet and grabbed his spear and shield. The necessary absolutions would come after, of course. The giant warrior grinned at the thought of the coming bout, his bloodlust plain for all to see.
"Move it, boys! The honor of first blood will be ours!"
The half-giant waved raised his spear and rushed forward, daring his sworn men to fall behind.
ooc: I guess this would require rolls for Dash (d6) and Command (d4) to be the first to make it forward.
"Cac-muca."
The foreign word meant nothing to the Englisc warriors among the Deiran lines - but a sombre chuckle came from the handful of Picts that stood behind their leader. Ciaran mac Galan grumbled as he watched the Northern army from the other side of the field. Not that he feared death in battle - rather the envied mounted horse for being the ones to draw first blood. He played with the string of his bow and waited patiently for the command of his king.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 24, 2023 13:02:57 GMT -5
Ælfric sees a group of horsemen riding off to the east, his own party whooping as they galloped after them whilst Scíra led a small group of warriors to claim the high ground. The greater body of Ethelric's army begins to come into view from Scíra's position. The King of Deira receives a message that the Bernician horsemen are moving away from the hill.
--
Beornheard is successful at being the first man forward, his blood-hungry warriors whooping and cheering as they stride out in front of the main body of the Bernician army.
--
"God us with you, great king. He has heard my prayers for victory."
Came the western lilt of a fresh-faced Irishman's voice, his red hair shaved into a tonsure. Unlike the warriors, he sat on a mule rather than a horse, and was in ragged wool rather than armour. A silver cross hung loosely from his neck, and he touched it instinctively, then kissed it.
"The Lord rewards the righteous, whether heathen or not, and punishes the unjust. You will be his sword of vengeance today, my King, and Deira will be yours. I have seen it."
He raised his powerful voice to be overheard by the surrounding warriors.
"Praise the lord, he who gives victory to kings!"
(Roll d8 performance to instil some kind of pro-Christian battle fervour in the warriors. Rolled an 8, also use the tool, crucifix, and rolled a 6. This gives the soldiers a 'condition' that gives advantage to them in combat)
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Post by Pinkerton on Jul 24, 2023 16:03:32 GMT -5
Æþelfriþ cyning rode at the front of his warband accompanied by a small handful of heorþġenēatas, his closest and most trusted ġesīþas. The force had been mustered in the fields south of Bebbanburh and slithered its way down to the vale of Eoforwic, passing the River Tees the River Tyne; a banner held aloft in the cyning’s presence depicted a sword-bearing fighting-man - the beorn in Beornice - though these æþelingas equally looked as the head of a great wyrm, a draca hunting down its targeted prey. fairies wear boots 👢 A rider reaches the King of Beornice declaring that the Snake has spotted the foe riding from the south. Æþelfriþ’s ġenēatas praised the rider and bade the man take water before returning to Scíra, and the cyning himself raised a hand to wave towards the closest horn-blower, signaling a clarion call to alert the rest of the body of the hild-wyrm to its impending struggle. A cnapa - a boy - sprinted up to the cyning’s side and held his Grimhelm (d8) aloft, and Æþelfriþ took it into his lap, readying to conceal his face and take on the grim visor and all its violent authority. “Ready yourselves for battle, warriors; we will pick up the pace and make towards the Snake’s position.”The new command echoed down far behind them as ġesīþas ordered the spear-bearers to pick up their feet. Scíra first heard the Bearnicians, the clinking of their armor, shields, swords and spears, the trampling of their feet, and then he saw them, a vague outline at the distance, the head of the dragon. He ordered the men that remained with him to light a fire, to signal Aethelfrith's men where to run. Some swear that, in smoke that came out of the signal, they could see the shape of a giant snake.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 24, 2023 16:56:07 GMT -5
God above…
The teeth of the King Ethelric gritted firmly in his jaw at the news of the Bernician arrival. A scouting party had managed to fool the men under his brother’s command and, by the sounds of things, a group of riders already occupied the hill. Even now, his eyes could see the smoke rising from the battlefield ahead.
Ethelhelm! Ciaran!
He commanded to both an experienced Pict and his eldest son. Sword being drawn, he points at the hill that was just coming into view.
Take that blasted hill before the Deirans can! Push those riders off and get us the advantage we need! Guplaf!
A new voice was directed at the standardbearer that had served two kings of Deira now. Ethelric would get his men to move forward with renewed vigor and strike as hard and as fast they could.
Raise the banner to signal the drums and horns! Let’s show these arrogant Bernicians how true Northerners fight!
With a stout command, the King bellowed ‘FORWARD!’ as the drums began to beat and the horns were blown. Ethelric would not be idle, he would strike first and boldly. Better than waiting and giving the Bernicians any further advantage.
(Don’t know if Will and/or Command are needed for this)
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 24, 2023 18:00:17 GMT -5
Guplaf nodded, the bearded Deiran raising a warhorn to his lips. Out rung a baritone note of war, and the drummers began hammering their sheepskin to herald the advance of the warriors of Deira. Up went the fluttering dragon of the King, the standard bearer kicking his mount into a gallop as he strove to keep the pace with his warlord.
"Look, my king. The serpent marks our vile foe." The Angle said, voice muffled under the iron grimace of his helm. "Thunor will be with us in slaying this beast."
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 25, 2023 12:35:01 GMT -5
Æþelfriþ rolled a 6 for Dash and 4 for Scíra's successful ruse. Ethelric rolled a 4 for Dash (see discord rolling channel). Beornice takes the hill.
Æþelfriþ did not seem to acknowledge the prayers of the Christian monk mounted on a mule, though several of his gesiþas turned and looked in the tonsured Wealh's direction.
The idea is planted in some of the warriors' minds that the Christian God may have something to do with victory, which we will mark as a condition - "Victory claimed by Christ", a (d6).
"Take that hill!" the cyning bellowed, his voice distorted by the dense ironwork concealing his face.
Kicking into his horse's flanks, he rode alongside the running warriors, noting how the race was led by one giant gesiþ, that Beornheard.
Æþelfriþ soon joined Scíra on the ridge, his fighting-man banner hanging limply over the rising smoke.
"Good work, snake, you're a clever one" he said with almost with a laugh, his eyes focused down the hill where the warriors of Dere were now flocking.
"Be ready to form a scyld-burh!" the cyning bellowed again, waiting until Beornheard and more of his gesiþas were in earshot.
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Post by Royal Joker on Jul 25, 2023 14:19:53 GMT -5
Beornheard, barely breaking a sweat after running after the mounted men to take the hill, rallied his men into formation.
"You heard the king, boys! Shield wall, form up! Those Deiran dogs won't be taking this hill from us."
The foot warriors began to trickle in, setting up their shields alongside Beornheard.
---
"Yes, my rígh. Men, march! Bring me the heads of their leaders!"
Ciaran wasted no time once the king's command was sounded. Drums and horns mixing in the air with the thudding noise of an army on the move. The Pict unslung his bow and rallied what archers were under the king's command.
"Aim for their shieldwall!"
He nocked an arrow, aimed it high at an angle, and let loose. Hopefully it would at least hit one unfortunate sod in the knee or the eye.
ooc:
I'll roll Aim (d10) to fire on the people up on the hill.
edit:
also rolling for bow (d6) and consumable quiver (d10).
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 25, 2023 15:58:51 GMT -5
The arrow sailed true, skidding into the space between the shoulder and the throat of one of the Bernician front ranks. He collapsed in a gurgle, his comrades forming up around him to beat their shields in response to the attack.
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Post by Magnate Lucius on Jul 25, 2023 19:28:00 GMT -5
Despite not being able to take the hill quickly, the King of Deira did not even halt nor hesitate. He spurred his men onward, ordering a renewal of the drums and horns. Even if the hill was taken, the Bernicians would be better prepared if he halted the march. Time would surely not be a friend if he kept going. And so, with sword drawn, Ethelric ordered an advance towards the Bernician ranks. The formation of the infantry altered to that of the Svinfylking or Boar Snout as the soldiers advanced.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jul 26, 2023 21:43:27 GMT -5
As per the rolls in the Discord rolling channel for this first round of battle: Deira under Ethelric rolled a 7 for its d12 Warband and 2 for Ethelric's d10 Command. Bernicia under Æþelfriþ rolled a 12 for its d12 Warband and 6 for Æþelfriþ’s d10 Command. 12 vs 7 means Bernicia wins the first round, and the Deiran army loses a point of Vigor.
The men of Beornice formed a shield-wall as quickly as they could and showered the ascending foe with thrown angons. The bravest and most experienced fighters took the front and center ranks, as was Englisc tradition, and the summer sun shimmered off the silverwork of a fearsome helmet glowering above and behind them on horseback; amber and gems etched out the features of a grim visage, catching rays of sunlight and illuminating what could only be the frēa of Beornice, his fighting-man banner mere feet from his body.
The air became filled with the taunts and yells of warriors on both sides, with the folc of Beornice beckoning their cousinly foe up the rest of the slope. Angons flew, arrows slit the blue sky, and men dispatched by these projectiles screamed out their final moments.
The two shield-walls closed in, ever closer, until only a short breadth lay between them…
"Charge! Break their scyldas!" came blood-curdling yells from gesiþas all over the line.
The men of Beornice surged forward, breaking their scyld-burh and bringing many a bearded axe and heavy langsweord overhead. Many of them leapt onto the shields of their foes, using their downward weight to kick the Derena back, and down came the full-force of shattering axes and swords. They howled like wolves as they did so, whooping and baying for their blood of the foe.
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