Coming from the north

[Armand du Corrze]

The dove with the message from Lord de Sennis arrived towards the evening of the second day the small but elite contingent of mounted Frankian cavalry had landed north of Windstorm castle. Lord Armand du Corréze quickly read the note attached to the bird – as feared, talks with the Windstorm king had proven fruitless and their assistance was badly needed at the castle. It sounded as if Lord de Sennis and his negotiators were running the risk of being taken hostage… that couldn’t happen, and so du Corréze and his men of about 110 mounted up, pulling along the pre-fabricated building pieces of a large catapult. Ammunition would be found when they had arrived, this was more intended to be a threat, du Corréze hoped.

They had to pass through a forest, for riding around it would cost them at least one day. They would have to be alert and ready for any trap or treachery, but du Corréze had not picked the men for this expedition himself. Only the best were here with him, and they would succeed.

[LucienMoonmist]

*Indeed, their haste would be thier undoing. The woods would sprawl before them, concealing any number of foot stubs. More importantly to their life, it also held a contingent of hidden elves. The Elven were a patient folk. Lucien had not lived his 800 years by being rash. He noted the number, strong, sharp man each. The catapult may prove to be an issue once outside of the forest. It would have to be delt with. As silent as death, he moved back from the lines, giving th signal to his unit. Efiiciantly they moved, snare traps, swinging log traps, all concealed, but able to be noticed. They littered the forest edges, dotted the interior. The traps would claim a few perhaps, but they were meant as a distraction. The true peril lay just outside of sight, concealed within the shrubbery and tree tops. All awaiting a simple call. Each elf which bore an arrow, notched and ready, each with a snigle named carved into them. Each name, each of the first arrows fired was to honor those who fought before them. The first arrows would strike their targets. With patiance of the ages, they waited for the Franks to begin their trek into the Gates of their Hell.*

[Armand du Correze]

Each step into the forest made Lord Armand more alert, more weary. More filled with the uncanny knowledge that they were running headlong into a trap. But there was no other way but to go through this thicket of trees and bushes, of dead logs and fern.

“Stay close, keep your eyes open! Have your bows ready.”

It was all he could tell his men as they advanced through the forest, a column of two single files, seeking places through which to pull the parts of their mighty catapult. Their advance was slow, their voices only whispers each time they saw an obvious snare or other trap.

How convenient, Armand thought, to leave these for us to find. Whoever laid them out surely didn#t know what men would come this way. Not bloody greenhorns who could easily be distracted by such open displays of danger! His men were the elite, experienced in many a battle, against a vast array of foes.

But the onslaught began. First single arrows, then salvos, coming out of the trees, threatening to scatter them. Armand drove his men onwards, crashing through the underbrush, ignoring the cries when men fell. They needed to get through, lord de Sennis counted on them!

After an hour, Armand emerged from the woods – he and 44 of his men still live. The toll that ambush had taken had been high, armand himself was injured, a broken off arrow embedded in his right side. He ignored the pain as best as he could, his men… de Sennis were counting on him.

About 300 yards away from the castle, Armand raised his hand and had his men stop. They still had all the parts of the catapult, it would just take a bit longer to assemble.

“We will rest here… they should see, we are still … here. Get that cat-… catapult assembled. We will not let…these Viking friends hold any…any of our own hostage.”

Speaking had become difficult, even tiny moves send sharp waves of pain through his body, the blood from his would had trickled down his right thigh and leg, a dark crust now. He would not dismount, for if he did, he knew he would not mount up ever again, and to die in the dirt was a victory Armand du Corréze would not give his enemy.

[LucienMoonmist]

*The toll had been great. The Frankish invaders lay strewn about the woodlands, most on the brink of death. Lucien was no longer with them, but their orders were well and clear. The ambush had gone well indeed. There were a few injuries on the side of the Elven. If the troops had spent more time fighting, they may have injured more. The injured and slain of the Elven were brought into the heart of the woodlands. To the surprise of the Frankish, those whom were not within the grasp of death were stripped of weapons and brought as well, bandaged and secured within makeshift prisons which dangled above the ground, suspended by a make shift rope system. They kept solid guard, awaiting the return of Lucien. As per his command, those still alive would be kept alive as best as they may be. There would be no senseless death here, only that which was required to protect hearth and home. It was the proper way.*

[espada]

*hearing the sounds from the guards of an approching force I move from the hall to the stables as was arranged with my men...looking round as the men gather then seeing the Sgt approching from the wall...litens as he tells me of the force coming from the fiorest and noding...hearing of the catapult my fists clench then relax as I hear the Sgt tell me our little toys have been compleated...slaps my Sgt on the back and grins as he shows me the 3 Gastraphetes that he had the armourer and bowyer make so quickly...looking to my 3 best archers and telling them to get to the walls with the bellybows ...watching as they mount the wall with the huge bows knowing that the french will not expect to be fired on by a crossbow that can easily hit a target 300 yards out..grining as the men brace the bow on the catwalk and press the bow to there stomachs and use the rachets to push the string back and lock it in place ...chuckling lightly as the 4 foot arrows are loaded into the bows and then sighted by my men that can take the eyes from deer at 200yards with there bows...looks to the rest of my men and tells them to prepare to ride out if we need to as I hear the twang of the Gastraphetes as they loose the small ballista bolts out toward the french catapult knowing whomever is setting it up will be having a very bad day*


The Greek Gastraphetes or Belly Bow is the first known artillery piece developed about 400 BC. This is essentially an overgrown wood crossbow. Composed of three main parts: a composite bow, a stock, and a slider piece that draws the bow string back. The slider is locked into place by a series of ratchets and the arrow fits in a groove on the top of the stock. Some Gastraphetes reached a bow length of 15 feet and could fire an arrow 4 feet long some 300 to 400 yards. The Gastraphetes was a slow firing weapon but as accurate as a standard crossbow.

www.geocities.com/espadaderelampago/Gastraphetes.txt

[typeo]

(((*chuckles at the typeo* that 15 feet should be 5 feet))

[Armand du Correze]

The ballista heading for the Franks and their still not assembled catapult hit their marks, scattering the Frankish assault weapon and men, many of them being hit by flying debris, pieced by large wood splinters from their own intended weapon. More and more ballista came flying, and after a good hour only 25 of Du Corréze’s men were still alive.

They were soon rounded up by guards on horses and rangers who took their weapons and kept a tight watch over them.

The Frank’s fate was uncertain, but Armand had honour enough to lower his weapon and admit defeat. He now only hoped the army to the south was doing somewhat better.

(This concludes hostilities on this front. Agustin, please decide what should happen to the prisoners