The Saga of Bragi Thunderfist. Barb. Gameplay, Mommy 1.23+

For this second play-through, I've decided to do a bit more of an After-Action Report / RP style.  If you're just getting started with the mod, I suggest starting with the guide for the Merc. Archer for some basic concepts.

However, since this guide is meant to provide some concrete information along with a fun tale of how a Barbarian rose to become a mighty leader of men, I'll start with the same basic information people need to know.

The Barbarian

The Barbarian class is a very special class, and one that a lot of players enjoy. 

At first glance, this class is massively over-powered.  The Barbarian has huge skill bonuses to AGI and STR upon creation, can out-run almost any normal troop, and has massive hitpoints.  In addition, because you never need to put any points into AGI and STR, you can max out all of the combat skills fairly easily.  This makes this class terrifically powerful as an individual, and can also lead to some extremely powerful armies.

However, there's a big catch.  While Barbarians are rough and tough and provide great leadership, they're illiterate and can't do math that doesn't involve counting on their fingers and toes.  This means that they simply don't get the same deals on equipment and the sale of prisoners that their fellow adventurers do, limiting their opportunities to gain cash.  On Mommy levels of difficulty, this translates into a fairly slow start, and the difficulty during midgame is fairly nasty.

A Barbarian needs to be more than just a superlative warrior; he or she needs to be a team player, and build up a high-class unit of troops and powerful Companions.  Given time and work, a Barbarian is one of the most powerful classes to play, but it takes a bit of finesse to move past midgame.

From here on out, I'm going to tell Bragi's story as a story, with a bit of drama here and there.  Unlike the Mercenary Archer guide, this is more about the mood and choices made, but should offer some tips for new players.  I hope you enjoy it

Exile

Twas a bitter moon that rose, the night me mother gave birth to me.  Aye, it must 'ave been a cold, bitter moon indeed, that night in Trollydyngja.  For it led to the death of a good man and the exile of another.  This is my tale.

When I was born one cold winter's night in a tiny shack, my mother was just a wee maid of 15.  My father was still just a lad himself, but already a giant, even in my homeland.  He was away on his second reeving, down south to the Fish Isles, where the fish-people do their trading during late summer.  When his jarl brought the crew back in late November, the men staggered under the loads of plunder they'd found, raiding the fish-people's towns.

That trip was the making of my father, and his undoing as well.  He slew over 30 of the fish-people's soldiers, including one of their princes, a man who was called Earl Graven, when the raiders met the fish-people's soldiers at a crossroads, and had to fight.  After that battle, the jarl Richmanson, his war-leader, bade my father to attend him, and made him a carl of his house, and gave him a mighty gift- a huge sword of the Southlands, made of steel. 

With his prowess and his new sword, my father was a terror out of the sagas.  Many a time, when he returned to the mead-halls with my mother on his lap, he'd tell stories of blood splashing, limbs a-splitting, and the horror of the enemy as his men moved through them like a wave of iron and blood.

My father rose rapidly, first serving in the jarl's house, then in his guard, then, when he was 23, as a jarl himself, appointed by the King we followed in those days, Wynclyffgrd, who was a wise old warrior and good to his jarls and men.  As a jarl, my father continued to reeve well; the best men fought one another in the honor-ring just to have the worst seat in his boats.  He eventually became wealthy enough to lead 3 great longboats, almost 200 of the best men.

I was largely unaware of this, other than the fact that we kept moving into better homes, and the food got better.  Like all sons and daughters of Trollydyngja, I was being taught in the ancient ways of war, to reeve on my own someday.  The old men of the village, too injured or infirm to go reeving but still sharp enough to teach, made us all learn how to bear physical punishment, lift the heaviest weights, and spend endless hours with the practice weapons learning how to cleave the foe.  When the weather permitted, we learned how to serve in the longboats.  By the time I was 13, I was ready to go on my first reeve with the other boys and the occasional girl who passed the Test; the failures became freedmen, provided they did not dishonor themselves, and ran the fird with the help of the slaves, but we reevers provided the loot, either from raiding or from mercenary service with foreign princes.

However, such was not to be.  That spring, as the winter storms finally slowed and the oceans quit looking fit to swallow Kraken, the king died.  The man had grown old, and his enemies had hired an assassin from the Southlands, a man called والغراب in their strange script, or The Crow in ours.  The man was crafty; he was brought in with a pack of slaves, fettered and chained and apparently harmless.  He waited nearly a month for the signal to be given, then suddenly entered the king's rooms, slayed him and ran out, where the king's enemy gave him a horse to escape on.

The whole kingdom was wroth by this; no honorable duel in the circle was this killing, but craven and cowardly assassination!  Civil war loomed.

However, the king's enemies installed a pretender upon the throne immediately; a sickly boy-child of nought but 11 years old, who would clearly fail the Test.  This did not sit well with the kingdom, and many shouted it down in the hall, but the pretender's supporters had many men and were deadly fighters, so the matter rested for the moment, but uneasily.

However, hearing that the assassin had not escaped the islands of Trollydyngja, my father went after him with four of his best men, to find him and put him to the question; if they could prove before the hall that the pretender's men had ordered an assassination done, they would be so dishonored that they would have to let a man challenge the pretender in the circle; such were the rules of the hall.  So my father went to track him down.

My mother worried much over this; she was a wise woman, and noticed many things that others missed, and feared my father had not taken enough care to know the ground.  This turned out to be true.

A week later, a man came riding to me, on a horse that was nearly dead;  frothing and ribs bare and bloody from his spurs.  He was one of my father's men, and even after resting for a few moments, he could barely speak; an arrow had pierced his chest and he breathed poorly.  He had a bundle with him.

He finally spoke and said to me, "Bragi, your father has been killed by ambush; the pretender's supporters created that evil tale about the assassin out of whole cloth.  They were waiting with sixty men, all well-armed and in war gear, and slew all they caught.  Your father killed many of them, but when he knew he would be slain, he threw me his sword, to give to you, as he will not be able to give you any other Test-gifts and it is likely you shall lose your house."

I looked upon the sword, which was still blood-spattered, and made a sudden oath.  One of the older men heard me, and said that I should renounce it, but I was 13, my father was dead, and vengeance seemed the only thing.  I took a horse and rode to the hall.

Once there I wasted no time; upon being greeted by the few men of the pretender's guard who had not joined the ambush, the weakest men, I immediately slayed them and then slayed the pretender, such was my wrath and grief.  The hall and the throne were covered in blood by the time I finished; I even slayed women and a child in my berserk.  I do not say that this was good; but it was their fate.

Coming out of my rage, covered in bruises and small wounds that suddenly hurt me, I saw, in the distance, the pretender's men coming a few miles distant.  I mounted my horse and sped away.  As I did, I saw that they were firing my home.  I do not know whether my mother was slain that day or later, but slain she was, I am told.

So, with blood on my hands, I became exile.  Having nowhere in my lands to go safely, and with no supporters willing to fight by the side of a berserk youth, I took the first boat I could find and headed south.  After four years of hard work as a mercenary amongst the fish-peoples, I continued south, past the land of the fish-peoples and into the land of Old Kings, the home of the dead Empire- the land of Calradia.  When I landed on the shore of the Nord country, I burned my boat and vowed to find The Crow and kill him, for no other task of honor remained.  And so began a new life.  I was naked, for in the land of the fish-people, they did not have war gear for their men, but I still had the good sword of steel, a horse (who barely survived the voyage, poor beast) and some food.  So I set forth, in search of my enemy.

The Early Days

The day after landfall, I went to the town of Sargoth.  It was a town of wood; far more wood than we used for our homes, but sturdy and well-made.  I immediately liked the Nord people; while soft like all Southlanders, they were nothing like the fish-people or the other people we reeved; here in the remains of the old Empire, warriors still fought and people still knew what honor was. 

However, that first night in the town, I nearly came to grief.  A common thief- a nothing-man, really, and no bother for a warrior- surprised me in an alley.  However, he was unused to the speed and power of Trollydyngjan legs, and I soon removed his head from his body.

Upon doing so, I was approached by a local man- a trader who, like me, had spent many years on the sea.  Impressed with my skill and strength, he plead with me to find and save his brother, a fool who had gotten himself captured by these local thieves; after arguing a bit about payment, I agreed.  After hiring some local men, whose prowess with spears was obvious, I went to the lair of the foolish robbers, and we taught them a swift and final lesson.  The fool, however, did not seem to learn much from his brush from death, but that is what fools are.

On returning to the merchant, he asked me for a further favor before I should go on my journey, and reluctantly I agreed.  This time we were to clean out some dishonorable people in the local king's employ- an act of politics that I was now old enough to appreciate somewhat.  Our victory was swift and relatively easy, and with a much fuller purse, I began to study what I would require to penetrate the lands of the far South and there find and kill my enemy, The Crow.

Money, Money

The first shock came then.  I found that it would take much money and many troops to enter that land and challenge the local princes, lest they be tempted to hide their countryman, who was, I gathered, a man of some importance, after being rewarded richly by the pretender's men for his act of assassination.

I knew little about money, other than how to buy food.  Nobody in Trollydyngja could read, other than a few of the skalds; we were too busy learning how to reeve, and then busy reeving.  In our lands, money was something that one stole, then gave to merchants who sold slaves and goods; we never learned much about it, most of us, so long as we had enough to feed our people.

So it was a terrible shock to find out that in the Southlands, it would take a lot of money to have a hope of success.  As a Trollydyngjan, I would be recognized as a 'barbarian' anywhere I went, so my mission could not be completed by stealth; moreover honor demanded a fight between us as warriors, not a knife in the darkness.  So, with many misgivings, I hired a few local men, and began reeving against the local bands of men who wandered this land, in pale imitation of our people. 

The first few groups of looters and base-born curs we met were dispatched readily; I soon was naked no more, but clothed in simple war gear, with protection for my body and head, but no proper helm.  But these men, while easy to cut down and capture for the bounty put on slaves, were poor prey indeed, and barely paid my men's wages.  I despaired of ever reaching the south.

The Luck Turns

Luck then struck, in two places. 

First, in a tavern I met a man from a kingdom westward of the fish-people, by the name of Lezalit; he was a fairly poor warrior when I met him, with foolish clothing and no good weapons, but he could train men and he was willing to fight for me.  With a bit of practice, he soon became competent by Southern standards, and I had hopes that he would eventually be almost as useful as a real man of my people.  Our catch of robbers and petty bandits rose somewhat; I was getting better at keeping them alive long enough to sell after we ambushed them, and had hopes that our purses would soon fill.

Then the second bit of luck- a strange and fell day.  While moving along a river, Lezalit, who had very sharp eyes, espied a huge cloud of dust out in a snowy field some miles distant.  As it looked like a big fight, the biggest I'd seen since entering this land, I immediately decided that we would investigate and perhaps pick a side to gain plunder.  The men all laughed and sang; it was a beautiful day and we were eager to finally find some loot.

As we got closer, we beheld a strange scene; huge men in war gear heavier than anything worn in the Nord lands, bearing huge swords and long pikes, were in a desperate battle with fearsome things.  Getting closer, we could see that the things weren't men, but were the skeletons of men, animated after death through some ghoulish rites. 

Our men were a bit spooked, but seeing that the men who fought had rich gear, and that the dread things had various treasures with them, we joined in the fray, on the side of the men.

We swiftly learned that these men were Vaegir; the bitter enemies of the Nords, the Vaegir are the purest of the old Imperial peoples, and hold closely to their old ways of making war.  They are fearsome in combat; while not as strong as my people, their heavy armor made them very difficult to injure.  With the help of my axemen and Lezalit, we promptly defeated the horrid foe, and the grateful Vaegir gave us a large share of the loot- the gold medallions and other things that the skeletons still carried on them- they must have been buried with them, for nearly all were richly laden.

With a sudden surge of money, I could afford to expand my band of warriors, and hired in more soldiers.  We now became strong enough to fight many foes that we had previously avoided, such as the larger bands of robbers.  These were a shock, at first; after fighting base curs for so long, suddenly meeting men with both war gear and, worse yet, guns spooked my men, and we had several hair-raising escapes from disaster.  But we survived, and eventually both I and Lezalit became more adapt at running our little band efficiently.

However, we were still small, and not rich enough to go South in force.  Pondering this, I spoke to Lezalit, as I knew that his education was far different than mine, and included knowing his letters and numbers.  He thought about it some time and said, "The thing we need to do, Bragi, is to gather a few more people like myself and you- the special folks who have the skills we need to make this a success.  Let's go hunting around; we can learn the lands as we go, and find the right people.".

The Formation of the Band

So began a long series of adventures.  With enough money to wander for many weeks, we traveled the lands, including the forbidding deserts of the deep South, looking for like-minded people of some skill.  We eventually gathered quite a team:

Little Ymira, a harmless-looking lass who soon became a proficient fighter, while also being our chief counter of things and check to greedy salesmen;
Strong-man Rolf, who seemed a worthless buffoon at first, but soon established himself as a stout warrior and lucky rider;
Deadly Borcha, a horse-thief who I thought worthless, until Lezalit convinced me to take him, who soon became useful, if surly;
Doughty Bunduk, who joined us after being wronged by a local prince, but soon proved that his experience had not been wasted;
Wild Matheld, a witch-warrior of the Nords, who quickly became a fell rider;
Sly Nizar, whose skill with a sword and steed was less than he promised, but who soon grew to be genuinely worthy;
Grim Baheshtur, a man with a honor-debt much like my own;
Stout Katrin, who at first seemed far too fragile for the wild life of a warrior, but who soon became an almost legendary infighter;
Wild Alayn, who dashed across fields on his stout war-horse, deadly to the foe, if a bit impetuous.

These Companions we found, Lezalit and I, and our band grew in both size and quality during this time.
 
We then had a problem; to grow larger, we would have to take on even more dangerous foes.  Ordinary bandits were almost beneath us, looters and scum were no longer a challenge.  But the larger bands of roaming reevers in this land had much better war gear and weapons; we would have to acquire armor and arms of our own.  For that, we either needed a huge pile of money, or some pluck and daring.  Being a Trollydynjgan, I chose daring, of course.

My band of adventurers and soldiers now numbered 90; we had a solid group of mercenary warriors from far Cathay, armed with their strange fire-projectors, and the stoutest band of Nord archers you ever saw, and various other odds and ends.  I decided on a perilous course; to arm my people properly and make us into a powerful force, we headed north and east, into the land of the Vaegir.

There we found the perfect prey; the Russki bands.  These men, so cunningly armed and powerful in combat, were nevertheless a poor match against the China-men's projectors, which are clever and deadly devices.  With them, we soon piled up so much spare armor in good condition that my band was now well-equipped with good gear, and our purse was reasonably full.

The Battle of Curaw

After traveling for many days through the strange lands of Calradia, Bragi was weary, and settled for a few days to rest his troops and gather up new energy for the next phase of his campaign.  He stopped in Curaw and planted his tents, then gave the troops an advance on their pay, to tide them over in that wild, frozen city.

However, Fate was laughing once again.  As his troops gambled and drank in Curaw, they heard stories.  Stories of a huge battle between mysterious forces, happening less than a day's ride away, that had been going on for over a day.  Stories that the armies involved were so huge that there weren't enough vultures for the corpses.  Stories that the armies weren't part of the forces of the local princes, but represented godlike powers, or worse yet, the Dead Wizards who had, according to legend, passed into memory when the magic of the world faded away, leaving the present magic-less world.

Bragi couldn't help himself.  Being a curious man, and remembering the luck that had followed him when he helped defeat the skeleton armies, he ordered the troops to move, and went to investigate.

A huge battle was indeed occurring, just south of the bridge across the river from Curaw.  Bragi couldn't even begin to count the number of troops on each side- many thousands, according to Lezalit.  They bore strange symbols; red crosses on a white and black field for one, black as night for the other. 

Bragi and his Companions moved closer, moving through some nearby trees to spy on the two forces.  It was obvious at a glance that they were fundamentally different; the forces mainly in white were dressed and appeared to be normal human beings; the other force, however, was odd; alien shapes and sinister armors, and horrifying giant horses.  Worse yet, they were supported by vast legions of skeleton auxiliaries.

Bragi wasted no time; he pulled the Companions together and said, "It appears the two sides are almost even; perhaps with a bit of luck, and a bit of command excellence, we can help these white-armored folks beat that other crew.  I don't know anything about either, but anybody in league with those skeletons can't be a friend to us- we know what side we're on!  Let's go!"

With that command, the most amazing battle of Bragi's life began.  The forces in white, who he learned called themselves the "Templars", had been fighting the enemy, who they referred to as the Dark Horde or the Evil Army, for over a day now.  The men were exhausted; the endless legions of the enemy battered into their forces like a scum-filled tide, washing away their troops.  Bragi saw very quickly that the Templars were excellent troops, man-to-man, but they were very poorly organized.  He began shouting and waving, and amazingly enough, they began to form lines and defend themselves.

No sooner had they done so than the Horde's massive riders hit the front lines.  All was chaos; huge riders smashed through fragile lines of men, who, somehow, miraculously, held, knocked the hellish steeds down, and dispatched the grim riders.  No sooner had they finished, however, then a huge force of evil-looking infantry, skeletons and various missile troops joined the fray.  Again, the lines held- diminished, damaged, but unbroken. 

Bragi, realizing that another wave would surely overwhelm them, reorganized the lines, dismounting the Templar cavalry, putting his Companions in with them and the infantry, backed by a solid line of crossbowmen armed with stout spears.  This improved formation held the next wave well.

Wanting to move to a better tactical position, Bragi manuevered his force forward, atop a large hill.  They had to fight a nightmarish action while in motion; Bragi regretted the losses, but judged that the new position would regain the advantage swiftly.

Then it became a crazy series of grinding battles.  Giant hordes of enemies appeared, ramming into Bragi's formations, again and again.  One after the other, his Companions were wounded too badly to continue in the fight or fell down from sheer exhaustion, but were dragged to safety after their heroic efforts.  Bragi's own mercenaries made a brief but powerful showing, showering the enemy infantry with explosive death, but once they ran out of ammunition, they were swiftly overwhelmed, and had to be replaced.

Bragi only caught bits and pieces of this fight.  Most of the time, he had to keep his eyes focused to the front, watching where his sword was swinging, and cutting down as many of the foe as he could.  Bragi lost track of how many enemies he slayed; infantry would rush him with evil cries, and he swung his sword like a huge baton, cutting the foe at the knees or aiming at their heads.  It became a blur of killing, and he became tired and confused; sometimes his lines appeared right around him; at other times, the lines moved so far away that he became an angry island in a sea of death, killing the foe and trying not to be crushed by their sheer numbers.

At some point, the enemy, finally realizing that their strategy was a failure, regrouped into a defensive formation on the side of a bluff, outside his archers' effective range.  Bragi began moving his forces forward, while charging towards the enemy lines by himself, hoping to distract the enemy long enough to let his troops get organized for the next push.

This proved to be a grave mistake; all of a sudden a huge force of enemy cavalry and infantry appeared nearby, and Bragi was overwhelmed.  He blacked out after taking many blows.

Luckily, a force of Templar cavalry nearby, seeing his distress, rode in and pulled him out of the fracas before he became a corpse.  Bragi woke up an hour later, in better condition than he had any right to be, and asked what had happened.  Lezalit showed him the numbers; during the battle, the Templars had defeated nearly 1500 of the enemy, and the numbers of the forces now favored the Templars by a ratio of 7 to 6.  And the Templars, recognizing that Bragi's leadership had saved their army from destruction, were willing to put the entire battle in his hands.

Betting everything on the outcome, Bragi, instead of fighting another tactical battle, sent all of his men into a general melee with the enemy.  With their new advantage in numbers, the results went strongly in favor of the Templars; after two huge battles, the battlefield fell silent, save for the croaking of the ravens come to feed.  Nearly 8,000 of the enemy lay dead; nearly 4,000 of the Templars were gone and dust, and Bragi's force, even with the best medical help available, was now a paltry skeleton crew, merely 67 souls, and nearly all badly hurt.  But they had won.

The results of this battle shocked everyone; for Bragi, this was the beginning of the next stage in his saga, truly.  For when the treasure of the enemy had been counted, nearly 77,000 silver dinars worth of treasure was Bragi's share- a fortune, by any standard, and it came with a pile of armor and weapons, sinister-looking but of good quality.  Lezalit did some figures with Ymira, and they sat Bragi down and said, "now you are ready to take on the South and obtain your revenge".

The Land of Crows

OOC:  As the mod's developer, I frequently have to port my characters by exporting / importing them, just like players who frequently download the mod have had to do.  Bragi Thunderfist was moved from 1.241 to 1.243 without any major problems, but I had to re-collect my Companions.

After the battle of Curaw, me and the crew got our heads together and decided it was time to head South, to the land where The Crow was said to live.  We packed up everything and moved our little band at best speed.

Along the way, we had further adventures, but they seemed minor after the Battle of Curaw.  A pack of Skeletons menaced a local Duke of the Swadian nation; since we were passing through, we intervened and earned a fat paycheck for our work, as well as much-needed battle experience for the greener members of the crew.  We also saw off a few packs of bandits; nothing really major, just the usual scum, but it brought in some cash.

As we neared the borders of the Sarranid lands, well... how do I put it?  They do things differently there.  That's probably the best way to put it, without using too many words.  Different houses, designed to keep cool in the heat of the days; spicy foods the like I'd never had before, and the men have much darker skins than up north.  Different clothes, some of which seemed outlandish and strange at first, but we quickly figured out that the clothes were like the houses; good for hot days and constant sun.  The women were beautiful; there's something about being in a strange place that makes all the women pretty.  Had to keep the men on a tight leash; customs differ, and in this place, the women are treated like secret treasures; even speaking to a man's wife or daughter on the street might cause a fight or worse. 

But we weren't there to woo; we were there to kill a man.  Other than my Companions, I didn't really talk much about it, of course; it would've caused rumors and bad feelings, and heck, we'd probably see plunder and fighting a'plenty along the way, so I pretended we were just shifting to greener pastures.  The troops seemed to know that something was up, though; some of my Irregulars- scary wenches they are, too, not people I'd want to meet in an alley- came up to me and said, "we've heard you have a Quest, Thunderfist".  I told 'em to shush, what my plans were or weren't was nobody's business but mine, and since I was paying the bills, they left me be.

The first thing that was clear was that we'd need more force to make any serious moves; The Crow might have been hiding his black heart in any of these local castles or the sprawling fortresses they used for cities, and I was quite sure that 90 troops wasn't going to cut it. 

My Companions complained, boasting of their prowess, but I took them to see the local troops shoot, and that shut them up fast.  Down in the Sarranid lands, they're quite warlike and good with tools, and according to Jeremus, they know more of the lost knowledge of the Empire than anybody else still does.  They have a long musket that fires a great big ball a very long way, and the locals could and did shoot a man-sized target consistently from 200 meters or more.  I may not be a military genius, but a couple of the Companions had been to school, and could grasp that as well as I could, or even better; Bunduk took one look at the locals and said, "Brother, we're going to need some pretty serious hardware, if you want to knock on castle doors around here". 

That was pretty much the sum of it; to have a fighting chance, we'd need a bigger force, practically a small army; to gather a small army, we'd have to spend some serious money.  But how to get our hands on it?  What we brought down from the North, while a pretty big chunk of change, wasn't nearly enough.

I got to talking with Marnid and Ymira; they both had a great head for numbers and good business sense; you'd never know it, but Ymira, cute little thing that she is, was actually our best at running an abacus by this point, as well as being a holy terror on that big pony of hers.  While we were talking, she suddenly exclaimed, "That's IT!" and walked outside.  Marnid and I looked at each other; she'd sounded crazy, or maybe inspired, and we followed.

In the marketplace, she started pointing at things; random stuff, I thought, but Marnid started to nod his head in agreement.  "Look, Bragi.  They've got spices, finished woolen garments, leatherwork that's worth a fortune in the North.  All we need to do is to buy it and move it, and we can turn a huge profit on every trip."

I was pretty dubious, to say the least.  I'm a reever, not a trader; the whole concept was strange to me.  But I'd seen enough of the world to know that traders could make fortunes, and if we traveled light, we could carry quite a lot, at practically no cost.  And the talk of earning a fortune over the course of a week or two, enough to "invest in permanent sources of capital that will multiply your investment over time, providing a broad base of earnings for future prospects"... well, that certainly sounded good.  And when I mentioned that if, perchance, we let the troops off the contracts early, then we could share the pot on any smallish bands of scum we could take down... that appealed as well. 

So we did it.  I took the troops up to Veluca and let them out of their contracts there, so they wouldn't be spreading rumors about what we were up to, and we became, of all things, traders.  Only the thought that this would further my desire for revenge kept me from thinking it was a joke at first...

The Life of the Trader

At first, I thought that being a trader would be dull and merely a way to make some money, fast.  My eyes were opened quickly, though.  Down in the Sarranid lands, we picked up many fine things that Ymira and Marnid said would sell well up in the North:  spices, dyes for cloth, leather goods.  By the time we'd collected all of the things, I was very nearly in debt, for the first time since I'd arrived (well, other than that one time in the Bordello of the Pearled One's Naughty Sister, but that's another story, friends). 

I had a grand total of 158 dinars in the pay box; I'd spent a bit more than 33,000.  It hurt to see it go, but I trusted Marnid and Ymira, and they said it very slowly, so that even I could understand it; if we were going to do this, we should "do a big plunge" and "maximize our short-term returns".

Then the trip up North, which was surprisingly fast and safe; with just me and the Companions, we moved like greased lightning, and other than a scare with a huge pack of Skeletons roaming the northwestern border of Swadia, we didn't have problem getting all the way to Wercheg.

And there, my friends, I found out why those merchants can buy houses made of carven stone.  We brought such a large store of rarities that merchants from all around flocked to bid on the wares.  We cleaned out the coffer of the local goods broker; we nearly cleaned out his third cousin, the horse-dealer.  When we counted the money, we had more than twice what we put into the goods; not too bad for a couple of days of hard riding!  Yet the local merchants were grinning; they'd gotten a good enough deal from us, through Ymira and Marnid's work, that they still made a decent amount of money reselling the goods to the local artisans and ordinary folks; something called "margin over wholesale" made it all work out for everybody.  That evening, Marnid said something to the effect of "dropping a few points" to ensure that the local brokers didn't bear us any ill-will; apparently the goods we were bringing in would disrupt the local economy or something, so Marnid fixed it so that nobody would try and set our inn on fire or send assassins to kill us in our sleep.

When we woke up the next morning, I looked at the crew, and they all grinned and asked where we'd do this "merchanting" next; it seemed a grand way to pile up the loot.  Marnid and Ymira agreed; we should buy whatever was cheap here, and move west, into the Rhodok lands, to sell it, then head south-east on one more trip.  At that point, accoring to Marnid, we'd have enough money to "begin realizing certain long-term options" through "leveraging our existing capital".  Basically, he meant rent, of a sort, a concept I was somewhat familiar with, although when he started to get into details, my head started spinning. 

Not finding much to our liking in Wercheg, we headed east along the northern coast.  We had a funny adventure on the way; we happened on a Sea Raider encampment and proceeded to demolish it quite nicely; it was surprising how easy it went, now that the crew was seasoned a bit.  Then we headed into the next major town.

The Life of the Trader, Continued

Heading over to Rivacheg via the coast, we soon made more profits, and now that our panniers were empty and our pay-chest was full, it was time to invest further money.  We found that this was trickier than we hoped; wine* and ale* both seemed to have little resale value, but there were other things that looked promising, and after some thought, we picked up various goods and went West, all the way to Yalen.

This journey was, unlike the journey north, quite hair-raising.  Not once but twice, we met bandits upon the road, who despite our superlative gear and obvious expertise did not heed the warning signs.  Twice we piled up 40 dead or more, ambushing the ambushers, before we left the fools to nurse their wounded and curse their leaders. 

My crew was becoming quite fell and hardy; we feared nothing we met upon the roads.  Yet it appears that some will try for the glittering ring even when it's obviously poisonous, nay, even covered with spines!  Still, these encounters kept us alert and sharp.  Not all enemies found on the road could be so ignored, or treated with disdain, nor were we immortals, so the smaller peril kept us alert for the larger.

In Yalen, we sold our goods, but found that we had to travel around for goods to sell in the Sarranid lands.  This we did, and then headed south, another perilous journey.  Through the the breadth of Sarrania we traveled, selling good tools and other things in exchange for dyes, woolen clothing, leatherwork and spices. 

Then we took all of these things back north again, all the way to Praven, and cleared out most of the money of that fine city.  The dyes, in particular, sold very well. 

By this time, my fortunes had exploded; where I'd started with 33,000 dinars, I now had 141,000.  I may not have ever learned much math, but even I could appreciate what "almost 5 times more" meant.  It meant the difference between maintenance on a raiding force, and a real army.  All that was left was to put away enough for a few weeks of campaign.

But Ymira and Marnid were now pestering me to "invest the money in long-term profit centers" and "treat the money as sunk costs to develop working capital in the future".  I gradually realized that they meant that now that I had enough, I should make calls on all of the local Mayors and other worthies, and then let them do some fancy talking, for it would allow me to fund my military operations in the future.  This I did, starting in Bariyye, while buying more things to carry up North.  As we passed through Sarrania, we had words with the local magnates, most of whom were very familiar with us, and did likewise.  My hands itched to heave a sword and my lungs wanted to bellow orders, though.  I told the crew that this run would have to be the last; impatient I might be, but we finally had a true fortune and it was time to spend it.






*OOC:  Wine and Ale are both bugged, and will be fixed in 1.244 / 1.25.

Lightning War

On our way south, we collected an army.  Not just a rag-tag bunch of hangers-on and would-be fighters, but a solid army, grim and ready.  The ravens circled us, in anticipation, and the vultures started passing the word.

By the time we hit the borders of Sarrania, we had 321 troops in the train, and probably over a thousand hangers-on of various sorts; sweet girls, cooks, stevedores; the usual detritus following a large band, but more than usual; despite my best attempts, the word got out about my quest, and apparently in the retelling I and my Companions became harbingers of some sort of doom, fell and strange, so that people came out just to see us.

We collected Rhulg vagabonds and Vaegir recruits, many of whom I knew would be killed in the coming battles, but whose armor might keep them alive long enough to become useful.  We brought a pack of Irregulars, including some of the grim women I'd let go in Veluca, and other odds and ends.  I'd done my homework, and reached a decision; fighting the Sarranids on their home turf was inevitable, if I wanted to find The Crow and pluck his black heart out, so we either needed a lot of cavalry to counter their field forces and kill their excellent jezzails before they could get the range, or we needed infantry that was tough enough to take a charge and eat it alive.  Rhulg are infamous for this knack; they aren't perhaps the brightest troops, they aren't the most skilled, but they'll take a cavalry charge with the same determined discipline that they apply to route-marching, and many a cavalry force has come to grief by their axes.  Coupled with the Vaegir, they made a tough force, and perfect for swiftly taking Sarranid castles by assault.

After the march took us to the border, I sat down with my Companions, and we talked about the coming campaign.  After weighing various options, I made my decision, and said, "Let's launch the world's simplest campaign.  We'll start at Sharwa and just move east, and take everything before they can gather an army.  These Sarranids are fighting one of their pointless little wars with the Rhodoks, I've heard; they aren't paying any attention to the East.  So we'll hit them, and hit them, and hit them again.  Just one rule; no stopping, and no major battles in the fields.  We'll let them assault castles, if they want to, and waste men, then mop them up after they've celebrated.  But we won't let them catch us and we won't stop until we've found The Crow or the army falls apart, whichever happens first.

And you know what?  We did just that.  4 days later, we'd captured  Sharwa, Bardaq, Bariyye, Durrin, and Ahmerrad, without stopping even to rest.

We fought one field action with a minor Lord, and I proved my prejudices right; it was mainly a waste of good troops, even though we won very handily.  I resolved to avoid such things in the future; if we wanted an engagement, we'd fight from walls and slay the enemy in conditions which favored us; the Sarranids are overly dependent on their shock cavalry, but their infantry is mainly very weak. 

Wanting to make up for losses and bulk up the forces a bit, I hired in 80 Defenders, and surprisingly, enough of them survived to become useful heavy cavalry.  54 Cataphracts joined us in Bariyye; a grim, silent lot, almost as bad as the Rhulg, and in some ways even more dangerous.  I bought their contract just in case we needed to fight in the field again; the Cataphracts seem slow and dull-witted, but their heavy horses and heavier swords are a deadly barrier to enemy cavalry, slaying horses and men quite nicely in the lock.  Combined with heavy infantry, they're a wall that only the heaviest gun fire can break, and deadly to anything.  That, and they seemed like they'd prove worth having in assaults, a thought that soon proved wise.

After this rapid campaign, my Companions wanted a rest; we'd been taking castles so fast that each one was a blur.  I reluctantly called a halt after a grim fight to hold Durrin; we rested the better part of a day, to get our troops ready for the next lunge.  And so things sat, until the next day.


*OOC:  some people are probably wondering how the heck a Barb can afford such an elite force, even with about 150K saved up.  It's actually pretty straightforward; by specializing my Companions, I have 8 in Trade, 9 in Persuade, and I have 9 Leadership.  This makes the costs go down really dramatically, even if you're a Barbarian.  In fact, at this point, while I ate about 100K or so buying troops, thus far war with the Sarranids is paying me back, about 15K a battle; those Mamluks and other elite troops they have are worth a fortune as prisoners!