Trebuchet Testing (9 Jan 2003) Redmane infiltrates a camp of the enemy, and plays a dangerous game.

War-Camp of the Trolls
The snow in this sloped field west of the city walls has been trampled into dirty slush by the army encamped upon it. Everywhere, the preparations for battle are evident, continuing even in darkness. Trolls sharpen weapons; small, clever goblins direct ogres to work on siege towers, arbalests, andcatapults; ugly, many-legged beasts whose shapes are hidden beneath cloaks fell trees from the forest, to be stripped and banded for use as battering rams. Ramshackle tents and campfires dot the field, all back far enough from the wall to keep out of bow shot from the city's defenders.

The ogre sentry leads Redmane and Ahearn to the siege tower nearest them. It is taller than the twenty-five-foot walls of the city, made of many straight wooden poles lashed together with layers of thick leather thongs. Spikes driven through the poles threaten to injury the incautious worker. A ladder leads up the back of it, and it has three platforms at different levels. The top platform is unfinished, though it has a single arbalest already mounted. The middle platform is armed with a single arbalest as well, while the bottom one has two. The whole affair is mounted on four wagon wheels, and has a long pole with cross braces attached in front, by which soldiers may pull it.

Near the incomplete siege tower, a goblin scrambles about on a contraption that looks like it might be some kind of catapult, barking angrily in his gibberish tongue to another goblin, who growls and hammers at a wheel. The tumultuous din of hammers, stomping feet, grunting monsters, and banging weapons fills the evening air.

The ogre bows, managing to look both absurd and obsequious, to Redmane as he shows her to the tower. A frightened, cringing expression hovers on his twisted features. None of those at work take much notice of either of them, however.

Without a word, Redmane dismounts Ahearn and approaches the tower. "How many soldiers will this tower hold before toppling?" she demands of the ogre foreman, and gives one of the wagon wheels a kick.

The ogre foreman barks in a foreign-sounding tongue to one of the brighter-looking goblin workmen. "Eighteen, me lord," comes the accented response as the goblin looks up questioningly at the newcomer and her ferocious-looking steed. "Maybe half as many, eef zey are as large as yooo."

As the other goblins start popping their heads up to look, the foreman snarls and waves his fist in the air, which puts them heads-down again and working twice as fast.

The mud-covered face of the knight turns and frowns at the goblin. "That isn't enough to accommodate the battle plan. At least twenty trolls need to be on the tower at all times, armed with buckets of water and sand -- although that has nothing to do with any rumors you may have heard about fire-breathing gryphons."

The foreman looks taken aback, rocking back on his heels. "But, but, Ironbearer ... what rumors are these? I haven't heard anything."

The tiny goblin who spoke earlier fills in the silence. "Eempossible, mee lord! Eet will not stand under so much weight!" He wrings his hands, looking back and forth between the foreman and the "Ironbearer."

Turning to the ogre, Redmane explains, "The report from one of our spies within the Palace leaked out and has been... exaggerated. If you hear any nonsense about there being five-hundred or more fire-breathing gryphons waiting to defend the walls, just ignore them."

One of the goblins, scrambling around on the catapult, pauses in his scrambling to gape at Redmane.

"Uh... Of course, Ironbearer," the ogre says worriedly. His gaze goes skyward as if making sure none of these gryphons are zooming overhead.

Looking back to the goblin, the woman demands, "Are the platforms in danger of collapse from the weight, or the support beams themselves?"

The goblin craftsman winces and ducks his head low. "It is the support beams, me lord. Too much weight, and snap! will they go. The wood here, eet is not like ze heavy, stone-like wood of the Dark Woods. Begging yer pardon, me lord."

"Well, how long will they hold up before failing, then?" Redmane growls, gripping the hilt of her sword and looking impatient.

The craftsman replies with head low, "Yer pardon, me lord, eet ees ze design! Ze designs say, build a zhertain way, eet will support so much. Zey do not say how long!"

"Then lighten the load," the knight says, and waves a hand towards the tower. "Remove those useless arbalests, and add a second ladder. Increasing the flow of soldiers will build up the mound of corpses faster, and that can be used to shore up the structure for the necessary amount of time."

Other goblins lean close to hear what is going on, until the ogre foreman barks orders at them. Even then, as they return, chastened, to hammering on the structure, when the foreman's eyes are off them, they lean toward one another to whisper.

The goblin craftsman narrows his eyes at the suggestion, then appears to decide obedience is the better path, as he nods and bobs his head, exclaiming over the Ironbearer's excellent suggestions. "Eet shall be done, me lord," he says, as he scurries over to the skins being used for blueprints and starts marking them up.

The ogre foreman growls, "It better get done, you useless lump, or you'll be the one who answers to the Ironbearer!"

"Besides, the trolls won't last long anyway," Redmane grumbles, just loud enough to be overheard. Louder, she tells the ogre, "We just need to make sure that the first two waves of casualties are stacked high enough for the following waves to climb over before they can catch fire."

The foreman looks aggrieved. "But ... have the plans changed? This sounds much more..." He seems to be trying to figure out a way to say "suicidal" delicately to his visitor.

"Efficient? Yes, it is," Redmane says, nodding, and turns to examine the closest catapult. "The enemies are cowards, and their morale will wither at the sight of our resolve!" she claims, then suddenly jerks her head around to scan the sky. "Did you hear... wings?" she asks the ogre in a quieter tone of voice.

The ogre foreman looks around suspiciously, putting a hand to the haft of his axe. "Nnnnoooo," he says, though it might be that the sounds of the goblins hammering away on the wood and tearing out the arbalests is drowning out any wingbeats.

Shrugging, the disguised knight points to the catapults again. "How soon can they be tested? High accuracy is required."

The foreman begins, "Immed--" but is interrupted by a yell from the goblin crafter, "EEMPOSSIBLE! Ve cannot test zem in ze DARK! Ve haf more than enough with ze towers to do!"

This is followed by a quick, but much quieter, "Mee lord."

"What?!" Redmane demands, drawing her sword and stomping towards the dissenting goblin. "What does the darkness have to do with it? These need to be fired at targets obscured by smoke and flames, remember! They need to be tested!"

The goblin crafter cringes and starts backpedaling. The other goblins draw back as well, sensing the heat of iron. "Me lord, begging yer pardon, me lord!" says the crafter in a much higher pitched voice. "Eet's only zat eet vill be hard to see ver zee rock smacks down, an' zen ve cannot make ze adjustments!"

"That is why I am here, dolt!" the knight yells. "I will call out the corrections from atop the tower," she says, gesturing back to the siege tower currently being stripped of its weapons.

"Of course, me lord," the goblin says, eager for a quick resolution to the problem that doesn't involve his head being separated from his neck. "Ze tower, eet vill take some time to make ze changes, though?"

"Then I'll help you along," Redmane growls menacingly, and strides back towards the siege tower. "Prepare to load the first catapult," she calls as she starts climbing the ladder.

Goblins almost literally melt away from Redmane's presence and that of her fell steed as they back up to give her space. The ogre foreman moves quickly to start yelling at the workmen gathered about the catapults, eager to be out of sight and therefore, out of the Ironbearer's mind.

The wood of the ladder is splintery under Redmane's gloves, but the construction seems quite sound. Hauling herself up to the unfinished top platform, the knight watches her footing and inspects the mounting of the upper arbalest.

There is much muttering between goblins as they huddle in the shadows around the campfires, in that narrow space between freezing in the cold and illuminated for the higher-up's attention in the warm light.

Drawing her sword, Redmane starts hacking at the joint-and-rope pivot for the arbalest.

Goblins scatter from the expected landing point ... and soon, with a great thud, the arbalest crashes into the snow nearby. It appears to have been no match for the cold iron of Redmane's sword.

Sheathing her weapon, the knight gazes out at the army from the towers higher vantage point, looking for likely targets to test the catapults against -- like clusters of important looking tents or other construction gangs.

This work camp is separated by some hundreds of feet from the bulk of the army, and joined by at least several other work camps similarly bustling with activity, spaced out along the perimeter. Many other campfires burn dimly across the wide stretch of country between here and the walls of the city, but there seems to be a concentration of fires in the middle, together with larger tents and standards on display.

Redmane points her arm in the direction of the center of the army, and calls down, "I can see the test range from here. Aim where I point, and adjust range for four-hundred paces."

Below, the goblin crew seem to have been working hard on one of the catapults, though it's a strange variant that seems to depend on a sling which is pulled along a trough before the lever-arm flings it into the sky, and a heavy counterweight on the other end of the arm. The ogre foreman barks orders, translating for the crew. Slowly, ever so slowly, the catapult turns, and various levers and gears are adjusted.

Watching the progress, Redmane estimates how long it might take to reload the trebuchet after each shot, and what sort of range it might have. Given the number of such engines under construction, she doesn't imagine the city walls lasting long against them.

The foreman calls up, "Ironbearer! Catapult ready! But, uh.... That look like shot fall on our side! Big boys get awfully mad, if we attack them!"

"I'm sure you will hit the target on the first try," Redmane calls down. "If you miss, you won't have to worry about them getting mad at you! Before firing, though, send out runners to the other crews with instructions on how to modify the towers. And let them know that the crew which finishes their work earliest will have the honor of leading the initial charge against the city!"

"THE HONOR!" screeches the goblin crafter. "The..." His words fade off into Goblinish speech as he berates his fellow workers, perhaps to exhort them into greater efforts. Or perhaps not: has the tempo of the hammers slowed?

The foreman scratches behind his head. "Uh, Ironbearer, you sure that target? No one say anything about setting up targets."

"Do you not think the enemy has their own spies?" Redmane yells at the ogre. "Of course you wouldn't be given all of the details. A decoy encampment has been set up specifically to draw attention away from where our leaders are really based. Our Master knows exactly how the enemy thinks, remember! Now fire the weapon, and hope that your crafters are as good as they need to be."

The ogre foreman gulps. "Yes, Ironbearer," he says, and then barks an order. CLANK! whoooooosh! With a titanic ker-thump, the trebuchet flings its barrage of heavy stones skyward. The rocks arc upward for what seems like forever....

The goblins have all turned to watch the catapult shoot, craning their heads upward. The hammering falls to a dead quiet.

Redmane turns her attention towards the brightly lit concentration of tents, to see if the missiles actually strike true. If they miss... well, that should still cause enough chaos to make the camp think the attack came from the city, she hopes.

The rocks thud into some tents near the supposed command center: off, but not by a great amount. Almost immediately there's a maelstrom of movement in the area.

"A perfect hit!" Redmane crows, and immediately begins climbing down the ladder. "If all of the weapons are as finely tuned as this one, your crew will certainly be in the lead!"

From the tower, as Redmane climbs, she glimpses some movements closer to home, as some lights separate from the flock of campfires to begin moving toward Redmane's camp.

The knight doesn't pause when she reaches the base of the tower, and immediately remounts Ahearn. "Continue your work, foreman. I go to check on the other crews, and hold yours up as the example they must meet!"

The ogre foreman looks bewildered by the rapidity of Redmane's eagerness to be off, so great a change from earlier. "Uh, all right, Ironbearer," he says, then visibly brightens up as he turns and starts yelling orders to the work crews again. From his point of view, that's one problem out of his hair!

In equine, Redmane whispers into Ahearn's ear, Time to disappear, a detachment is headed this way. She guides him towards the next camp.

The Lord of Horses whuffles, needing no urging to canter away. I hope my lady has not used up her entire supply of luck for this incarnation, he tells her. We'll probably need some to get out of here, after that.

The goblin craftsman's voice fades into the background. Were he speaking English, Redmane is sure that he would be saying, "INSANE! This is absolutely insane...."

The blowing snow begins to frost upon Redmane's cloak again, the winds whipping up. The lights are still approaching the camp, at a speed that suggests their bearers are on horseback as well.

"I'm hoping more for a slow chain of command, actually," Redmane says as she bundles up against the wind. "Time to change your appearance, Ahearn, and head back toward the road. We may have to shake off a pursuit."

A faint ripple is all that betrays Ahearn's alteration of their glamour, as he stops projecting an aura of filth and evil, and focuses instead on unobtrusiveness.

The lights spread out somewhat, as if moving to flank the camp. They appear relatively few in number, but there's no telling what sorts of troops are bearing them. For the moment though, it seems that Redmane and Ahearn will be able to slip past their net.

The work camp's fires fade from sight slowly in the blowing wind. The next one is only a flock of pinpricks in the distance.

"Hopefully, the runners will reach the other camps and spread the rumors before they can be stopped. Then it's just a matter of having more officers come to officially deny them to make them stick," Redmane whispers to Ahearn, and turns to watch the torches of the investigating detachment around the previous camp. "I'd like to know if they're riding horses or not. We might be able to pick up a better disguise if we can catch one of them alone."

Ahearn breathes in, tossing his head. There's a horse among them, or rather, what was once a horse, poor beast, he says. The others -- monsters. One is Vyglari. I'll not mistake that scent.

Faint noises reach Redmane from the work camp, yells and furor.

Frowning, Redmane asks, "Do you think the former horse would still follow your command? Its rider is likely to be the most human."

No, my friend. It's too far gone to know me, the stallion answers.

The knight grits her teeth, and says, "Then we can at least end its misery. Let's find it and its rider."

Ah. Not to disagree with your sentiment, the stallion begins, still plowing towards the safety of the woods, but that would mean driving back into the teeth of an army. A very angry army. I don't think they'll fall for your "Ironbearer" story a second time.

"A good point, friend," Redmane admits. "Let's head back up the road and make sure Sir Theodore knows the situation then," she suggests.

A new fire blossoms in the nearer work camp. This one is above the ground about the height of the siege tower. There is another cacophony of shouts and churning goblins and stranger silhouettes.

Ahearn's nose wrinkles at the smell of smoke. He whuffles in surprise. They don't really have fire breathing griffins inside the city -- do they?

"Well, they seemed to believe me about them," Redmane notes. "Maybe they do ... now. Otherwise, the crew is being executed for treason. Either way, it's a scary thought."

The knight takes another look back towards the construction camp, looking for... well, maybe the reflection of firelight off of giant wings... before heading off to find Theodore's army.

It's faint, very faint, but could that be the silhouette of the black boat in the sky, passing over the camp?

"Not a gryphon," Redmane declares. "I think that was Thomas and the others! We need to see if they make it over the walls alright, Ahearn!"

And here I was hoping to see if we make it away from the enemy army all right, Ahearn answers, tartly. But he turns to run along the treeline for some paces, while Redmane cranes her head towards the sky.

"If the boat's passage causes more disruption, we might be able to wreck some of the other siege towers," Redmane says by way of encouragement, while she turns her attention between the dark ground and the dark sky to try to see what's happening.

Or ourselves. One of the two, certainly, Ahearn says.

The boat seems to be passing across, and beyond the camp, and perhaps the rest of the army hasn't heard of these fire-breathing griffins, for it doesn't seem to have attracted any more attention than that of the first's work camp. Whatever was going on at the work camp seems to be quieting down in its wake, however, and the woods grow steadily darker and colder.

"Ever the optimist, Ahearn," Redmane says with a smirk, and pats the horse's neck. "It's one of your more endearing qualities. But it looks like the boat made it without incident. Let's go find our own army now."

West of the City
Night has fallen, and drifting snowflakes begin to thicken the rime on the trees. The main road to the city can be seen easily by fading moonlight, for it has been trampled into mud and slush by thousands of tramping feet and gouged by the wheels of huge supply wagons, or perhaps siege engines. Here and there, broken branches look as if they have been either snapped by brute strength, or lopped off cleanly by passersby.

Ahead, Ahearn slows, sensing the presence of men within the trees. They are shadowed by the many branches and tree trunks that surround them, and gathered around far more modest campfires ... but they lack the gross misshapenness of the previous army's soldiers.

Redmane finishes wiping the frozen mud from her face, and notices Ahearn's change of pace. "I think we've found them," she says, and guides Ahearn towards the fires.

"Halt!" comes an unfamiliar voice from the upper limbs, as Redmane approaches. The hooded sentry holds a bow, arrow drawn against his cheek, aimed toward the lady knight and her steed. "Who goes there?"

Raising her hands out to her sides, Redmane announces herself, "Knight Redmane and Ahearn, come to report to Sir Theodore."

"Sir Theodore? I've never heard of a Knight by the name of Redmane, either," comes the questioning reply. "Which lord do you serve?"

Redmane actually has think about that. "Well, at the moment I suppose I serve under King Marc of Umbrecht," she finally says. "And who might you be, sir?" she asks the sentry.

The white stallion paws at the ground, and tosses his head. And I suppose you've never heard of the Lord of Horses, either, boy? he says, with a glower at the sentry.

"King Marc ... and the fabled Lord of the Horses?" comes the surprised reply. "But you don't sound like any of them either. I'm Brien, lieutenant in May's service. Do you have word from within the Palace of All-Seasons? Has ... has King Marc returned?"

Lowering her hands, Redmane replies, "The king has not returned yet, and I think I'd better talk to someone in charge about the Palace."

"I'll take you to the commander then, milady," replies the Lieutenant. He jumps down from the branch and motions for Redmane to follow him through the camp and into the woods, pausing long enough to order another soldier to take his place.

As she and Ahearn follow, Redmane wonders how many other Houses are hiding out here ... and whether anyone from May will even remember their former knight.

In a larger camp set in a field beyond the woods, another guard takes word from the lieutenant and proceeds inward to a command tent. Some minutes later, a drowsy-looking commander dressed in robes welcomes Lady Redmane into the command tent. Cots make it evident where the leaders of this army have been sleeping, around maps that show the grim situation of the city. Not one but two armies have besieged its walls: one to the west and one to the east, in different colors of red and black. May's army consists of scattered white markers dispersed through the trees.

The commander surveys Redmane and Ahearn, for fortunately the large tent is spacious enough to accommodate the King of Horses as well. "You are figures out of legend, if what Lieutenant Brien says is true," he says. "Can you prove it, however? The Year's End has many guises."

After dismounting, Redmane simply draws her sword. "Can any of the Destroyer's minions wield iron, Commander?"

The commander reaches out to touch the blade, then stays his fingers well short of the blade. "Sss! So it is, Lady Redmane. If there's a shifter in the Destroyer's army that can wield iron, I don't want to meet him or her. Very well, then, I apologize for my display of mistrust, and I hope that you and the King of Horses will forgive me in these trying times. I am Sir Gawain, and I am leading May's forces to aid the defense of the Palace."

He gestures toward the map. "As you may have seen already, however, we have been forestalled from joining the defense as quickly as we might like."

Stowing her sword, Redmane looks at the map and asks, "Are you the only House that has forces outside the city walls?"

"For the moment, milady. Others may have forces upon the way, but if so, we have neither encountered them nor been sent word," Sir Gawain answers. "Communications have been poor of late. What word have you?"

Pointing to the area between May's army and the Green Sward, Redmane says, "Sir Theodore and his Knights have awakened, and are on the move along this route. The Lord Protector Melchizedek and the true Lord April have arrived at the Palace by flying over the enemy army." Pointing to the perimeter of the Destroyer's army, she notes, "The siege engines are being constructed along the outer edge of the army, and are relatively vulnerable. The roads have been seeded with sentries armed with warning horns." On saying this, Redmane shows Gawain the captured signal horn.

"Sir Theodore... Of the legends from the First Year?" asks Sir Gawain. "And the Lord Protector and the true Lord April have returned? Truly you bring glad tidings, Lady Redmane!" He nods to Redmane's suggestion, and outlines the intended plans that he'd made, that of harassing the army in a hit-and-run fashion. "It is not the most chivalrous of approaches, but I fear that against so many, any direct assault would be certain suicide."

"We need only keep them from attacking before Sir Theodore arrives," Redmane suggests. "Then we'll have them between us on the outside and the city defenders on the inside." She points out the locations she encountered sentries on the main road, and says, "Have you been able to scout out the sentries on the other roads? If we can clear them without raising the alarm, we may be able to attack their constructions all at once and escape before they can react. I've tested their speed, and it isn't as slow as I'd like -- they had forces at the camp I was sabotaging almost immediately after I'd test-fired one of their trebuchets."

"We've scouted out at least some of their sentries, milady," Lieutenant Brien says. "Speaking for myself and my men, we're willing enough to essay a raid on their camps, but we'll have to fall back hard to lose them after we pull back."

"Do you have Knightsteeds?" Redmane asks, looking thoughtfully atthe map.

The commander shakes his head to the last question. "We've plenty of ordinary horses, Lady Redmane, but Knightsteeds are a rare breed," he says. "Though I should dearly love the speed that they would offer my cavalry."

"What about skilled archers then?" the Lady Knight asks. "Striking from a distance would help make up for the lack of exceptional speed."

Lieutenant Brien grins. "Oh aye, milady, name yer target and I'll put an arrow through it, soon as I'm in range of it." The commander chuckles, "Aye, we've a strength of bows. That's one of the reasons we were sent; it was thought that bowmen would be most needed on the walls. Though we've many footmen to guard the archers as well."

Redmane returns the grin. "Excellent," she says. "I suggest you have your archers take out the sentries then. If we can do that quietly, then we have a chance at surprising the construction crews with some flaming arrows."

"Very well, milady. And do you recommend that we strike now, or await the arrival of Sir Theodore and his knights?" asks Sir Gawain.

Thinking of the speed of the Black Boat, Redmane tries to figure out how close Theodore's army is by now.

Ahearn remarks, Theodore's knights should be less than two hours away, by now.

Nodding to Ahearn, Redmane turns to Brien, and says, "Assemble your archers, and send out scouts to make sure the sentries haven't moved. There may be an enemy scouting party coming up the main road, so check that too. It would be better to send out the archers with Knights to back them up and cover their retreat. Let's have as much information as we can by the time Sir Theodore arrives, then we can move on it."

"Very well, Lady Redmane," Sir Gawain says. He gestures to Lieutenant Brien to fetch the other officers, and then turns to the lady knight once more. "Will you be with us, or joining Sir Theodore's party?"

"I'll stay here, in case any Vyglari are on the move," Redmane says. "If you can spare a scout to ride up the road to intercept Theodore and let him know we're here, please do." As an afterthought, she adds, "And if you have someplace I can wash the mud out of my hair, I'd be forever grateful, Sir Gawain."

Previous Log: Inquiring of Melchizedek	Next Log: Rescuers and the Rescued

Thread Links
	Previous Log: Pulling a Thomas Next Log: A Chance to Turn the Tide

---

This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.