Act:1 Part 1-Outside the village
Hrossbjorn, and his small army, stood on the edge of a small village that they had stumbled upon a few hours prior. The village had no particular claim to fame as far as Hrossbjorn could tell, and it seemed big enough to house around fifty people. Hrossbjorn stood five steps out in front of his army, his eyes scanning the shadows inside the houses. Sometimes he imagined he was seeing faces in the windows and motion in the spaces between the houses, but thus far no one else had seen or heard anything else. The stress of the past week had already gotten to Hrossbjorn. Marching through the countryside had become one potential trap after another, and it taxed his mind. He was seeing shadows behind every tree and monsters in his sleep. Despite the increasingly drastic nature of this, imaginary threats were becoming the least of his worries as his eyes were drawn to bright flashes in the distance, and the low rumble of thunder that soon followed. A large storm was heading straight towards his forces. Already exhausted, the heavy rain that would accompany that storm would make life that much more difficult for him and his soldiers.
This was the new life of the Earl, the retreat from the Mad King armies had created many new, and tricky at that, problems for his soldiers. There was a legitimate problem related to logistics that needed dealt with, as their food reserves were already low a week ago when they arrived at the battle. While normally he could simply enter a city and refill supplies, the news of the Mad Kings victory had spread like wildfire. Reports kept coming in from cities across the land, and the cities behind their current position told stories of monsters breaking down their walls and murdering every living soul they encountered. These reports became less frequent with time, and the news ahead of them were no better. People were scared of what happened. Rumors were starting to spread that cities, instead of evacuating and retreating to better defensive positions, were preparing for the inevitable sieges. Most also barred entrance to the city itself and the guard often confiscated any and all food reserves. It was madness to Hrossbjorn. He offered them entrance to the Glamhoth lands and safety behind the walls of Castle Estel when he sent four of his five riders out to spread the message. The final rider would act as a rear scout, keeping his nose out of danger while monitoring the advance of the enemy.
“What do you think is taking him so long?” Asked Gyrid in their native Glamhoth language. “The village is not all that big and the scout has been gone for half an hour.”
“He is either a good scout,” responded Hrossbjorn, also speaking in his native Glamhoth language, “or he is dead.” He joked.
“And if he is dead?” Gyrid asked again. A small smirk crossed her face as she presented the thought. She herself held the newcomers to the group to a lower standard than the Glamhoth soldiers, viewing them as a liability and in some cases even dangerous to the group. Gyrid had a keen eyes for signs of Black Magic, and she had noticed one member of the group in particular in regards to it's use. She had noticed that the Va’sha mage, Walden, was never very far from a dark black colored leather book. While she had no proof just yet of his involvement, she had her hunch. She was trained from a young age to root out Black Magic use and end the threat that it presented to the living; this was one of her roles as a Rofella Guard. Signs, such as a suspicious tome and odd behavior, usually indicate to her that someone one is in bed with demons. While he had not presented himself as odd or suspicious, his book caused Gyrid to keep her eyes on him whenever she had the chance.
“First we will drink a pint in his memory, then we will avenge him.” Hrossbjorn responded. Hrossbjorn differed in his thoughts about the newcomers. They each held a certain skill set that could make or break his effort to make it to the Castle Estel. A woman who can control the weather could serve useful if the village turns out to be not safe, and a powerful mage could level a whole portion of an enemies formation if they run into the vanguard of the Mad Kings’ army while the elf, who has spent most of his life as a scout for the Lebethron army, could locate any potential trap before the army arrived. There were a few other additions to his army that he did not think were worth extra thought. Though they all had their uses in his army, and he would make sure he protected these assets as long as they kept themselves in line and under control.
"I could use a pint right now, whether or not he dies." Chimed in a Glamhoth Shield Warrior behind them in the Glamhoth language. He was a tall soldier, standing nearly six foot three inches tall. His beard was a crimson red color that peaked out from underneath his metal helmet.
He was met by an 'aye' from most of the Glamhoth soldiers, each looked as if they were thinking back at a loving memory with the thought of a pint of mead on their minds.
"I could as well, my friend." Responded Hrossbjorn in the Glamhoth language and smiled. His soldiers were still in good spirit despite the week of running and marching.
“Sir.” The voice of the lead scout shouted from up ahead, pulling Hrossbjorn from his thoughts “I think there is something wrong with the village. Everyone seems to have vacated the area, and left behind all their clothes and other valuables. Many doors remain locked, as if the villagers expected to return home. To me it seems like something happened in the village, something terrible.”
“No vengeance today, Hrossbjorn.” Gyrid joked, this time in the common tongue. She moved forward a few steps towards the village and scanned the area with her eyes. “I suggest we move into the village, and take it by force if the enemy is there.” Hrossbjorn quickly moved to Gyrid's side as she continued.
“If the enemy vanguard has reached us then we must be quick in getting out of this area.” Hrossbjorn whispered in the native Glamhoth language. “You know this is not wise.”
“The men are tired, Hrossbjorn,” Gyrid whispered back, “I am tired.” She paused as she looked back to the village. “If we are to make it to the Castle we need to regain some strength and grab whatever provisions we can. We have a long journey yet to march. The last report from our rear scout stated we had a full three days lead on the vanguard.” Pausing again as she moved back to the side of Hrossbjorn. “Would you rather me threaten you with the information I know?”
“No.” Hrossbjorn responded in the common tongue. “You are right.” He placed his hand on his chin and began to stroke his beard as he thought of a quick plan of action for entering the village. The entrance nearest his army was an almost straight shot down the road, with the road itself flanked by the first pair of houses in the village. The road itself would not bend and would continue for another hundred feet before reaching what appeared to be the market or common area of the village. From there it was a short walk to any of the houses.
Hrossbjorn turned his body away from Gyrid and the village before looking back at his soldiers, plan in mind. “Form three lines behind Gyrid and I. Shield Warriors, you are on the outside of the column with your shields facing outwards. Archers, mages and anyone too afraid to be on the outside are inside of it.” Hrossbjorn spoke in the Glamhoth language. He paused as he moved himself closer to the group. “Do not wander off alone, do not do anything stupid and you will live.” Hrossbjorn continued in the Glamhoth language. He paused as he looked over every new face that had joined his army. “If you do wander off or do something stupid, my men and I will save you from whatever is trying to kill you only to have Gyrid kill you.” He finished, this time speaking in the common tongue, as he pointed his ax towards Gyrid.
“You don’t want me to kill you. I steal the souls of those I kill.” She joked, earning a few chuckles from the other Glamhoth warriors.
“We do not know what awaits us in this village. So keep your head on a swivel and scan every doorway and every window, if you see something shout.” Hrossbjorn, once again speaking the Glamhoth language, finished. His eyes moved to the faces of the newcomers, and the realization that he had just ordered them in a language that they did not speak dawned on him. "If you did not understand what I said, you are in the middle of the formation. Do as the other soldiers do."
"Idiot." Gyrid joked, this time earning more of a laugh from the soldiers.
“Any questions? Good.” Hrossbjorn rhetorically asked in the common tongue, before turning around and begun to head towards the village, his makeshift army quickly moving to catch up and form up behind him. If those who did not speak his language wanted to know what the plan was, they would have to ask the Glamhoth soldiers around them, though the two lines of Glamhoth soldiers on the outside with the middle being open should have been a clear indication.
