Search results for query: *

Kieth paused for a moment, looking about him in the tavern. His wits had returned fully, and he took stock of the situation. The captain was eying the melee with distaste, as were the pair of foreigners he had been watching earlier. The normal patrons were looking at his troop with undisguised horror; it was one thing to know that they were mercenaries seconded to the garrison, it was another thing to see their skill employed.

Kieth took a deep breath, and summoned his reserves of aristocracy and arrogance. “Sergeant Jorumther,” He said with a wave of his hand. “Deal with this.” With that, conveniently handing off the task of stabilizing the situation to someone who actually know how to do so, he turned to face the Captain and he addressed the group.

"A man thinks he can drink in peace, and then another man paints the tavern with blood. What a waste of lives and ale.” The Captain turned and smiled at the young noble. “Best leave this bandit to the city watch, They'll have a chat with your friend here and resolve the matter. You mentioned the most honorable House Tihr. I take it you command these men? Allow me to introduce myself, I am Captain Doro, and I am looking for men with courage and skill..."

Kieth smiled, with a nod. “I know who you are. Word travels fast in the garrison. As for the prisoners,” He gestured and pointed at the woodlander, whose hands were already tied and being dragged by across the ground by Flocke and Erick. “We are part of the watch. I’m sure my men can see to his incarceration while we… discuss potential work for the house.”

Behind Kieth, Jorumther had worked himself in to a rage, the spectacle itself enough to stabilize the situation and assert the law, let alone the scramble of men behind him. “Neils, go with Erick and Flocke.” The sergeant barked, full of vitriol and rage. The paranoid novice already had his crossbow reloaded, and held his fighting axe in his off hand, eyes darting around and head on a swivel. The sergeant continued, “I don’t want any nasty surprises on the way back. Make sure the sergeant of the guard is notified. Go to the fifth post, quickly now, get a squad from the garrison and move him to the keep. I want that man secured.”

Jorumther turned to Locke. The young lad stayed were he was, sitting on his knees, rasing his arms protectively, showing his wounds to his sergeant as if they would afford him a protective geis. Behind him, the trio of warriors and their prisoner exited the tavern. A dangerous growl filled Jorumther’s voice. “You. You dumb ****.” He turned to his second, turning to Adeal, and barked. “Take this welp and un**** him.” There was a pregnant pause between the three, while Jorumther glared at the Locke. Then, in a sudden motion, Jorumther reached into the young lad’s vest, taking out a bundle of silver the size of of an newborn’s head. “This is mine.”

Locke swore, then tried to beg. “Sergeant, please...”

Jorumther glared at him again, stoping his protests before they could start, then tossed the pouch of dinars to Adeline. “A round for everyone!” He yelled, loud enough for all to hear. The waitress caught the pouch of silver with a grimace. The old sergeant sighed. “Get a keg for the youth, and take the rest as… damages paid.”

The serving girl nodded. She shouted, and the beer flowed.

Keith took his seat, Adeline having a pair of men drop an open keg at the end of the table. Jorumther caught his breath, then took his seat by his noble.

The young cavalryman looked at his sergeant, then turn to the captain. “Tell me, captain, about your proposition..”

To be fair, I think it was only a matter of time before there was a fight. This fight was also productive, and it provides a plot hook.

I did a thing. I think i made it too long. Ahh, well.

Tag! you're it.

As Kieth and Erick sat down, Jorumther turned to a waitress and roared, the battlefield bark of skilled sergeant rattling cups and drink, suppressing the chatter of the tavern as he asked. “Adeline, two pitchers of cold beer for us and the young Kieth here.” The moment of the sergeant's words died down, the usual chatter of the tavern resumed.

Awkwardly, in the sudden but disappearing silence, the youth and his minder took their place on the bench, backs to the door. Niels, the paranoid novice, stood with his siege crossbow in hand, and trotted to the sergeants side, watching both his back and the door to the tavern. Adael and Jorumther, for their part, finished the contents of their mugs, greeting the cavalrymen with grumbles. A moment later, a pretty blonde walked up carrying a pair of cold, top-sealed pitchers and a few more mugs, dropping it all at the table with a grumble. Adeal thanked the lass, popped the seal on one of the pitchers, and poured into the five glasses.

Keith smiled as he was passed his mug, drinking deep to quench the thirst of the training yards. With a relaxed sigh, he leaned, forward, and saw he only had about a third of his mug, just poured, remaining. Silently, resolving himself to be more restrained in the future, he took another sip of the brown ale, then asked the old sergeant. “How are the lads?”

Jorumther snorted, pointing to the dice games that the twins were involved in, with one of their friends in the local criminal enterprises. Five men were clustered around the table. Three he recognized, Flocke, Locke and a mutual friend. “Do you really have to ask? Garrison is only good for getting them bored and in trouble. They’ll keep for a few more weeks, hopefully, or either piss off the city guard or their erstwhile friends so much we’ll have to move. Got any leads on where we would be moving too?”

Keith sighed. “King Derthert is still in the field, and will be so for the next few weeks according to the higher barracks gossip. Safe to say that enlisting in his majesty's party will be off the table for now. As much as I would like buttering up to his lordship and earning solid coin, I think we might want to look at the other options.”

Jorumther groaned. “I do not want to start drilling a bunch of pissant peasants. I mean, I can, but drilling is a pain in the ass. Wiping some boys soft from garrison duty back into shape is one thing, but taking a posse of peasants and wiping them into a good mob takes seasons, and not only do we not have enough coin to arm and feed the assholes, I don’t have the patience. Plus, the whole point of this expedition was to springboard you to a lordship, not just attempt to grind it out. That would takes years of good fortune, never mind the fact all it would takes is one unlucky bolt to **** us all.”

Neils grunted, jerking his head to the entrance. Jorumther glanced up from his beer. A pair of men, foreigners, entered the Palfery quietly and unobtrusively. Alas for their silence, a single glance at them put the three men of the Golden Boar at the table on their guard. What business did a Khuzait have here in the west? The gaze of the three clued in Ekrick, who, in good sense, did not bother to look himself. “Problem?” The light cavalryman asked lightly.

“We’ll see.” Muttered Adael darkly.

For his part, Jorumther examined the easterner for a second, before shaking his head. “Sellsword, methinks. Neils, keep an eye on him. No, crossbow down, dumb-ass, eyes, not bolts. Just in-case he starts trouble.”

“What are we all looking at?” Asked Keith, his youth on full display.

As Adeal refilled the mugs at the table, and then finished the first pitcher of beer himself, the old sergeant deliberately pointed out the eastern horseman. “That’s a Khuzait, over there. Take a good look. Best light horse, scouts and horse archers in the known world. You would do well to keep a few in your employ once you have a company of your own, lad.” A moment passed, and, as Keith continued to stare, and then Jorumther cuffed the squire lightly. “I said a look, gods-damned-it, let the man have his business. He has as many rights as the rest of the scum in this joint.”

A silence descended for a moment on the table, admid the hubbub. Neils was busy obsessively categorizing everyone and everything in the room and how they could betray him. Ekrick and Adeal both didn't want to come between their sergeant and employer respectively. The old sergeant winced internally at the fact he just hit his noble, and hated class. The young lad, himself, nominally in command of everyone at the table and paying their wages, used what he considered common sense and deferred to the old trooper, asking, in his naivety, what everyone else considered a loaded question.

"Should we hire him? Or fold him into our lance, I guess?”

The old sergeant sighed at a bolt dodged, and settled the issue before it could make Niels murder someone. “Not him, specifically. When you have a company. Let's work on that first then?”

Keith nodded, grabbing his refilled mug and drinking a solid quarter of it. “A company. A dozen lances. Scouts, flank-guards and a baggage train….” He trailed off and then jerked, as an epiphany hit him. “We’re gonna have to sell our swords for a while, aren't we? To lay a foundation?"

Jorumther sighed, a tired smile on his lips. “Sell-swording is the best option. You need experience, not only in combat, but campaign and leading. I know you’ve been on campaign with Count Aldric, but you’ve been on the field as a page and barely a squire. I’m” he paused for a moment, then leaned forward as if he was to share a secret. “Going to say something dirty. Are you ready?” The people around the table bowed, winces as they sniffed out the heresy that was about to come out of their sergeant's mouth. Keith nodded. “Logistics.” Everyone else besides the pair groaned. They swore under their breath, they whined, they wanted to ignore the emperor's elephant in the room. There were plenty of reasons why they followed the sergeant, only half being because he was the most experienced fighter in the group. He always found a place to sleep that was dry (relatively), never missed a wage-day, and always had a meal at the end of the day.

The old man refilled the youth’s mug, topping it for the third time today. “I’ve talked about this before. Lay the foundation, make friends. Find guild leaders and troop leaders. There are a few big mercenary companies here and there, like the Golden Boar, but affiliating with one of those will stain your honor. A quiet affiliation won't hurt.”

The young lad sighed, feeling himself being dragged to a path not of his own choosing. “I’ve heard…” there was that pause, not quiet because they were in a tavern, but a pause from everyone none the less. “A mercenary captain is in town. One of good skill and reputation.”

Adeal shrugged dispassionately. “Captain Dorotheus? That Imperial wizbag? Another Calradic horse commander trying to fill his ranks with young Vlandian cavalry, yes?”

Erick stiffened, and Jorumther raised is eyebrow. “Is there more to the story?”

Keith nodded. “Word is that he is now a company of troops, under oath to our king, Derthert. More importantly, by the grace of Sir Mathurin, he is oath-sworn to Adric dey Tihr, to raise a company of no more then five hundred swords.”

Another pause.

Jorumther, boggled, spoke. “Five hundred swords? Twice the king’s men? With hangers and mules, that’s a village on the move. How?”

Ekrick shook his head. “Not under arms, but allowed. He’s looking for troops in Sargot now-”

Neils, tapped Jorumther’s shoulder and pointed. This time, at the tromp of maille and kit, like the rest of the tavern, the table of five turned.

“Speak of the devil” whispered Adeal.

Neils twiched, and he cocked his crossbow. The heavy bolt was locked and ready, the same promise of murder that was on the battlefield. Jorumther swore loudly. “Calm down. Coincidences. This is a bar. Even the nobles need a drink.” The mercenary band settled down at a table, beginning to talk, while being stared at by Jorumther’s table. Neils, twitched, turned, but did not unload his crossbow. Joumther motioned, and the newcomers were served by Adeline, who was carefully listening into the conversation…

Leave it to the twins to spoil a good thing.

To be fair, cheating at dice was bound to start a knife-fight sometime. Murphy, however, leveled a law, and it demanded that violence happened now.

By the time Keith had turned, all he saw and heard was screaming violence, even as his mind caught up with Niels having fired his siege crossbow and his hand went to his sword.

A second ago, five men had been playing dice. Flocke, Locke, one of the local thugs, and a pair of caravan riders. Now, the local thug was busy scrabbing at his throat, blood pouring like a fountain. Flocke and Locke were pinned under the table, the second of the two dragging out his seax, while his brother Flocke sucked up a number of punches to the face, desperately attempting to fend off the knife of the caravan man attempting to stab him. A single, desperate, bowel clenching word issued from his lips. “Woodlander!”

The fifth man was dead. Niel’s bolt had pinned the Woodsman to a support beam, his body rolling relaxed around the nailed skull. The woodlander’s mouth rolling open in confusion, as the man’s body began to recoil itself with death.

That left Keith still getting to his feet and drawing his sword when sergeant Jorumther reminded the lance of the other half of the reason he was a Sergeant. Not just logistics. Violence.

The caravan guard looked up at the shadow, and caught the hammer end of the war pick in the jaw. It would have been beautiful if not the arse-clenching sound and sight of two dozen teeth being removed from the man and being nailed to the ceiling, support pillar and wall of the tavern.

The scream was inhuman.

The third woodsman, charging with blade thrusting, caught his breath when the spiked tip of the fighting pick found its way into his windpipe. He steadied himself, trying to breathe again, and caught the bloodied point in the side of his temple. His corpse flopped languidly at the foot of his nailed brother.

As Keith took his second step towards his deadly Sergeant, attempting to reconcile the reality of it all, the screaming started.

“Silence!” The sergeant roared, and the screaming cut off as it began. He looked around, took a breath, and declared. “The local bandits showed their hand.” He hefted his blooded pick. “This is the rule of law. They tried to cheat the law, and they tried to steal from us. This is their fate. Look, and remember, lest you share theirs.” He turned to the young Keith, who kept his blade locked to his leg. “Sir, I have taken a prisoner.”

There was a moment of terror for Keith. The bloody sergeant locked eyes with him. Flocke and Locke had wiggled themselves free. He opened his mouth and gaped.

Erick spoke. “By your leave, sir, I’ll take Flocke and secure him.”

Relief flooded the squire, and he found himself working again. He pointed to the crying, toothless man. “Erick, Flocke, I want this man examined.” Keith stopped and emphasized for everyone. “Under my protection, dey Tihr, understand?”

Erick twitched, and nodded. “Aye, sir.”

no rush, just planning mine own out. I personally was looking to post later, maybe even tomorrow, depending on local.

Úlf, you gonna show up in the prancing palfrey? I'd rather end my post with my band noticing you entering.

An honest mix, really. lots of classics, modern political history and local state history. I do have a more focused eye in military history, but truely a jack of trades.

What do you hammer out in your smithy? making swords?

I joined back in 2009, mostly to hang around the tavern and the BofT, and I think I was either a 2 or 3rd year of high-school.

Since then, I graduated high school, went to collage, dropped out of collage, joined the Marines, finished my contract, went back to school, and graduated with a history degree just this winter. Right now I'm between professions, what with virus and everything, but altogether pretty happy to see the tavern get a new lease on life.

Lore wise, true, but in technical terms that's how the game treats them. We can play it either way, both even, as it's not uncommon to sponsor bandits and other commerce raiders without formal affiliation during this era. Just tossing ideas and possibilities out there, really.

Brotherhood of the woods is basically a mercenary company in game terms, so it could be as easy as saying that either the Brotherhood affiliated themselves with another faction that Vlandia wasn't currently at war with or they disaffiliated themselves with the current conflict.

The courtyard of the keep in Sargot and the seat of power of the Vlandian King, Derthert, was small and cramped, fitting only a stable for the noble lords of the land, along with a small training yard. Two dozen men from the garrison watched, gambled and hooted as a fit sergeant and a well equipped knight of the garrison sparred, swords dancing and flashing with strike, parry, counter-strike and evasion. Despite being fully armored in maille, and plates in the knight’s case, they moved easily, with skilled darting motions as the ebb and flow of the match went one way or the other.

Despite the obvious distraction of the two elite troops, who occupied the focus of the men around, they were not the only troops practicing. Another Sergeant in the background had a set of young lads practices with pikes, and a number of troops spared with wooden blades in the background.

Among the background troops in the back were a pair of leather armored men, one just entering the age of adulthood and another a scarred veteran, but still young. Despite their lighter armor and weapons, they moved through stiff practiced motions, the clack of blade and re-post measured and calculating, rather than natural and second nature. The younger wielded a practice sword meant for mounted combat, unwieldy compared to the lighter arming sword of his compatriot. His companion was heavier, but just as fast, and used his strength to force himself close, and exploited the advantage of having a more handy blade. Again and again, the older warrior closed the gap and scored a death-stroke, but each time took longer, and few more tricks in his book.

Finally, as the sparring sergeant overcame his opponent, with the roar of a dozen excited soldiers, the younger of the two Vlandians turned the tables, meeting and counter-matching the veteran’s rush. Surprised, and with the younger squire stepping on his foot over-balance the older warrior, the larger man fell backwards, and found the youth’s practice sword at his throat.

“Enough, Keith! Well done.” Grunted the veteran.

“Ha!” Chucked the young squire, proffering a hand to the downed trooper. “I knew it was only a matter of time. Fallen in your own trap, methinks.”

The veteran snorted. “Aye. It only took a dozen bouts for you to best me. One out of those isn't bad, really.”

The youth punched the veteran in the shoulder playfully. “By my count the score is two to three. You scored thrice in a roll, aye, but that is still even enough. Another bout, Ekrick?”

The light cavalryman looked at the sky. Cloudy and almost overcast, through the gaps he could tell the sun had passed its zenith. He shook his head. “Jorumther will be expecting us at the Prancing Palfrey by now. Garrison life, even though that’s what your father pays for, can’t last forever.” Keith sighed, grabbing the wooden practice blades and returning them to their racks, and retrieving their steel swords in the process. “I suppose. Wouldn't mind a beer or two to finish the day.”

Strapping the swords to their belts, the pair made their way out of the courtyard, and wandered down to the traven.

Jorumther and his old friend Adael sat at their table, mailed and armed, although their helms dangled from their belts and not their heads. They had left the large pavis shield and their deadly siege crossbows upstairs. The pair nursed tankards of ale, idly watching as a southerner chatting up a tavern wench engaged in a potential escalating fight. As it potentially evolved into something dangerous, some of the traven’s crew started to deal with it, and the rest of Jorumther’s band wandered in.

Six men entered the traven, of which three were in the old boar sergeant's employ. Two of them, the twins, chattered, wheeled, dealed and argued with their local counterparts, thugs working for one of the local gangs. In the back, Neils fiddled uncomfortable with his siege crossbow, steel tip of his bolt almost poking the terrified thug’s gut.

The group broke apart after a minute of argument in the foyer, the trio of boar novices leaving the thugs to do their business with the owner of the prancing palfrey. They returned to their sergeant, money passing hands quickly. The week’s pay, the sergeant’s cut of their illicit dealing, money for more beer. The twins didn’t stay long, however, quickly being pulled away to start a rigged game of dice, while Neils paranoidly watched the entrance of the tavern.

“How much longer do you think we’ll stay in Sargot?” Adael wondered mildly. “I have no objections to staying here and drawing garrison pay, but this isn’t earning Keith a household which we can look for retirement in.”

“We’ll see.” Grunted Jorumther. “We’re too small to go it alone, not unless we want to draw a posse of locals. Maybe one of the lords is looking for a lance of sellswords for an upcoming campaign. Either way, we’ll have to get the boy onboard first. He was supposed to be here by now anyways.”

Even as the sergeant finished speaking, the pair of horsemen, Ekrick and Keith entered to treaven, quickly finding their way to their table.

I don't think we need to raise horse to the point of npc/leveling: the current system of horse, pack horse and war horse do that well enough with equipment.

The primary point is the reduce the value of simply have massive numbers of horses in your baggage train with no downsides. This is the current issue people are having with the horse herd gameplay: there is no reason not to mass horses.

While the herd slow down feature is a start, but i'm not sure it's could be balanced correctly, and adding the requirement of horse feed to maintain your horses adds another balancing axis.

Realistically, armies in the middle ages and even today are restricted by their baggage train. The mongols required scouting of pasture as they advanced in conquest in order to maintained their herds. There are a hundred ways of balancing the horse herd problem. Food and herding of pack animals seem to be the most obvious and intuitive.

I remember you Draco. Yeah, we're just getting started here, so feel free to join in.

Edit: I see we have the mandatory horse archer Khergit. It's not me this time lads!

I'll have my troop find their way to the tavern and then hang out while figuring out what to do next. Sargot is governed by Derthert, king of the Vlandians, so some steward or someone likely runs the keep.

Yes, and the surrounding villages.

Aldric is the starting leader of dey Tihr. Nobles do not have titles per say, methinks, so we can just call them barons.

How did I miss this for a week? The first RP thread in years!

Alright, I'll bring a lance of troops (7), methinks. Young nobleman squire, Vlandian, with a old vet to hold his hand so he doesn't end up shanked too bad.





We are using the 365 day year, right? Bannerlord has a modified 40 day season cycle. Bannerlord's system is better geared to the higher level gameplay, but honestly time-skipes, I think, work better for RP.

In terms of language, I agree dialects and old and new versions of languages and add a deep RP element. That said, I think a few rules should be set. I propose:

1. Dialects can always talk. If you want to speak in Proto-Rhodok-Swadian with a southern twang, that's fine, but it's a RP element only. Vlandian is Vland. If we want notions and ideas to be missed, or miscommunication, sure, use your good judgment.
2. The empire's language is Latin. Low Latin is the Lingua franca. Everyone can speak this, unless you -character exception. Everyone can speak to anyone if they want.
3. "High" or "Old" language is the noble-speak. Latin for empire, culture for other. It's another language, but nothing stops anyone form learning it.
4. Official writing is in the high language. Writing can be in low.

I am aware for the preview option.

Between kit and the buggy nature of the game, I'd rather have a system rendering of my mount. It'd make problem solving easier anyways.

There are sets of charger armor that are only cover the front of the horse. This makes sense because if the only part of the horse is that is going to be suffering attack is the front, e.g. on the charge, why bother to armor the rear? Drop half the weight, the horse can run twice as long before getting exhausted.

As for adding kit to the horse, yes I would like to put a pair of quivers on the flanks of my steed, but I'm hesitant to ask more. An extra lance would be too much, but extra ammunition spots is in the preview of the dev team. Lost if the horse dies, of course.

Simply have each horse count as one more person drawing on the food supply. The actual difference between the amount of food a horse and human eats can be explained away as grazing when you stop, just like the game ignores stopping to sleep/eat/maintenance.