Time passed and Deorwulf and I found our way to the area with the action. Those Swedes had come down from the north expecting to crush all before them with their brothers to the south closing the trap. Except the massacre of the drunken Swedes in Leastnee meant the tables could be turned.
So, we found ourself near to Viglaff and his heavies, and thought it would be a good place to get noticed and get our faces known. However we were a bit disappointed to be left almost out of the running by being placed in a group with the most ugly cow of a woman called Nothgeth. By the gods she was hell to listen to also.
The plan was to rout the invaders over this Isle called the Spial, where the woods to the north might provide shi[ping to escape, or the marshs to the west might give them an exit from the area. We chose to take a middle route north-east and with our slow start we are left to follow tracks of others. The fourth in our group, Edric, an axeman seems right enough
Soon we find our trail is not a band of the Swedes, but six of our own lot. Though they are already getting the better of two of the enemy, we pass them by to see if we can find fresh tracks. At last something to go on, some sort of strecher lines in the ground – as if someone is being dragged. These lead to a copse of trees where a body looks to have fallen under a bush. As we poke around, the bush comes to life and makes a grab for Deorwulf, almost ensnaring him. A good bit of pulling gets him free, and Nothgeth shouts for us to
It is only a quick shout by that harridan, Nothgeth, that urges us to get away from this thing she calls a Woe’s Wife. Apparently a Woe is quick and deadly, and we don’t want to be around if it is nearby. We don’t hand around to find out, and leave the area, though that also means we lose the tracks we were following.
Eventually, the light fails us, and we make camp. Even that does not go well, as we are awakened my a group of Pooklings intent on our demise. I put up a great defense against 3 of the 7 – dodging and weaving and doing very well to avoid any blows. I fell one in a couple of hits, and drive two more from the field. Deorwulf is badly chewed, and is still suffereing from his wounds the previous day. Yet in the end, we prove ourselves and manage to gain some meagre rewards in the form of a few coins, an axe and a franca.
And before we manage to get much further, it is apparent that we have won the field. Annoyingly it appears that the stretchered person we had in our sights, was a a man of some note, and it would have been something to have caught up with him.. but it was not to be. We rejoin the main grouping and are sadly all but ignored as the revalries ensure for our victory.
Time passed and Deorwulf and I found our way to the area with the action. Those Sweons had come down from the north expecting to crush all before them with their brothers to the south closing the trap. Except the massacre of the drunken Sweons in Leastney meant the tables could be turned.
So, we found ourself near to Wiglaf and his heavies, and thought it would be a good place to get noticed and get our faces known. However we were a bit disappointed to be left almost out of the running by being placed in a group with the most ugly cow of a woman called Nothgyth. By the gods she was hell to listen to also.
The plan was to rout the invaders over this Isle called the Spile, where the woods to the north might provide shi[ping to escape, or the marshs to the west might give them an exit from the area. We chose to take a middle route north-east and with our slow start we are left to follow tracks of others. The fourth in our group, Edric, an axeman seems right enough
Soon we find our trail is not a band of the Sweons, but six of our own lot. Though they are already getting the better of two of the enemy, we pass them by to see if we can find fresh tracks. At last something to go on, some sort of strecher lines in the ground – as if someone is being dragged. These lead to a copse of trees where a body looks to have fallen under a bush. As we poke around, the bush comes to life and makes a grab for Deorwulf, almost ensnaring him. A good bit of pulling gets him free. It is only a quick shout by that harridan, Nothgyth, that urges us to get away from this thing she calls a Wose Wife. Apparently a Wose is quick and deadly, and we don’t want to be around if it is nearby. We don’t hand around to find out, and leave the area, though that also means we lose the tracks we were following.
Eventually, the light fails us, and we make camp. Even that does not go well, as we are awakened my a group of Pukelings intent on our demise. I put up a great defence against 3 of the 7 – dodging and weaving and doing very well to avoid any blows. I fell one in a couple of hits, and drive two more from the field. Deorwulf is badly chewed, and is still suffereing from his wounds the previous day. Yet in the end, we prove ourselves and manage to gain some meagre rewards in the form of a few coins, an axe and a franca.
And before we manage to get much further, it is apparent that we have won the field. Annoyingly it appears that the stretchered person we had in our sights, was a a man of some note, and it would have been something to have caught up with him.. but it was not to be. We rejoin the main grouping and are sadly all but ignored at the revelries for our victory.