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File: Looter.jpg (49 KB, 380x560)
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>THE TRUMPET SOUNDS ITS CLARION CALL
>THE MESSAGE IS CLEAR
>TIME IS ROTTING
>THE CORNERS ARE CLOSING IN
>THE FATE OF MAN HAS BEEN SEALED

The winters are getting longer. The harvests are getting smaller. The sun is getting dimmer. Everyone is getting sicker. Everyone is getting hungrier. Babies are going limp. Animals are going feral. The omens are dark. The consensus of the learned scholars and the cloistered priests has reached a rare consensus. The End Times are here.

You could not give less of a fuck. You are a Looter and you are proud of the name. It means that if you were caught by the townies you'd be hanged on the nearest branch. It means you do not give a fuck about the local lord or any of his men-at-arms in full harness. It means you are a man. You are your own man for once in your dirt farming life and the lads agree. You and ten men got together and started your own Looter band and struck out into the countryside. You have no delusions. You're all going to die terrible deaths but you'll die for yourself and not a fatass on a shiny chair.

The sky above is cloudy and gray. The mud sticks to your boots. The knife on your belt is pitted with rust.

What a day to be alive.

The lads look to you to tell them how to spend it.

>Go back to the village and look for more recruits. You might run into an armed patrol.
>Go back to the village and kick in the tax collector's door. This will get some heat.
>Go to the woods and keep a forced march to avoid the local lord's men-at-arms.
>>
>>4925002
>Nameless Protagonist (NP):
>You're the Looter that happens to be in charge. You aren't special and have no combat skills. If you die one of the lads will become the protagonist until all of the lads are wiped out. If you kill and loot enough you might get to be special.

>The Lads: NP, 10 Looters, 12 Food, (-11 Food per day) 0 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Morale: The lads are excited. They want to get more food but they also want to loot.
>Infamy: Nobody knows that the lads decided to start a Looter gang but they will soon.

>Looter:
>An ex dirt-farmer who stole a knife or found a stick. Zero combat skill. Zero morale.
>>
>>4925002
>Go back to the village and kick in the tax collector's door. This will get some heat

Start with a bang!
>>
>>4925002
>Go back to the village and kick in the tax collector's door. This will get some heat.

Probably the best way to inspire more recruits!
>>
>>4925002
>Go back to the village and kick in the tax collector's door. This will get some heat.

Fuck the IRS
>>
>>4925002
>Go back to the village and kick in the tax collector's door. This will get some heat.
Time to make bank.
>>
>>4925007
>>4925019
>>4925029
>>4925069
Fuck the tax collector. You hate the local lord and the tax collector is how he stays on top. The tax collector and his dozens of men-at-arms in full harness. You get the lads together and go to hit the tax collector's house at just after sundown when he's getting ready to sleep. They're excited and for some it's the first time you've seen them smile. You know it's the tax collector's house since his house is the only one made of logs instead of mud and wattle. It's also the only one with a door.

You kick it in and see two men in the living room sitting at a table and playing cards. One is fat and wearing clean clothing and the other one has a historically accurate gambeson and shortsword. You recognize them as the tax collector and a local guard. The tax collector won't be good in a fight but the guard is dangerous but there's only one guard and ten of the lads.

They don't try to negotiate. They know what you want to do. They pull out a dagger and a sword. You have the advantage. Unfortunately for you the lads have no discipline and choose their own strategy.

>Mob them with overwhelming numbers

You see them run in and you have to choose.

>Hang back and let them fight to get some loot
>Fearlessly charge right in the front of the lads
>Do something sneaky and recklessly foolish
>>
>>4925482
>>Fearlessly charge right in the front of the lads
>>
>>4925482
>Hang back and let them fight to get some loot
Opportunity waits for no man!
>>
>>4925482
>Hang back and let them fight to get some loot
>>
Rolled 4 + 1 (1d10 + 1)

>>4925520
>>4925544
When the lads rush in and start to fight the two of them you don't rush to the fight. You rush somewhere much more important. The tax collector's dressers and drawers, digging through his finery to see where he's keeping the money he stole!

>The Nameless Protagonist is Greedy: +1 to Looting rolls and rewards

The lads are fighting them both! Lucky the numbers are on your side.

>Roll 10d4 to beat the tax collector and his guard
>Roll 1d20+1 to Loot the tax collector's house
>>
>>4925644
clearly the loot roll is more important
>>
Rolled 19 + 1 (1d20 + 1)

>>4925644
Not sure if you want two separate rolls, but here's one for lootin'.
>>
Rolled 1, 1, 4, 3, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 4 = 23 (10d4)

>>4925644
>>
>>4925687
That's the spirit lad.

>>4925688
>>4925704
The looters flip the table and get into a vicious struggle. You see the guard swing his sword and split a lad's face open and then stab a man in the stomach but the lads don't give him room for footwork and a looter cracks him in the back of the head with a rock. He falls to the ground and gets dogpiled. He tries to beg for mercy but they just saw him stab one of the lads for a tax collector and they don't care. The guard is strangled to death and the gang starts beating his corpse.

While that's going on though you spot the tax collector sneaking away and get the drop on him. The fat man tries to stab you but you slash his hand and he drops the dagger with a yelp. You manhandle your arm around his neck and grunt. "Te'me where the silver is or I'll split yer belly." He whimpers. "It isn't here... It isn't here... The local lord has it in the local keep. You'll find nothing, scum. The local lord's men-at-arms in full harness will have your-" You sink the tip of the knife into his belly and he changes his tune. "AH! WAIT! WAIT! I'll tell you something better. The secret door to my root cellar." You take the knife out. "Oh? Then lead me there."

The tax collector who you know is a coward and a greedy bastard leads you to the corner of his kitchen. His house has three rooms! Such luxury! There, he bends over and moves a rug to show a latch on the floor that he pulls to reveal a hatch leading down to a ladder. You force him down and then go to take a peek. You've hit the jackpot. Two barrels of beer and only one of them is halfway empty. The other is full to the brim with the work of the local still! This is enough to keep your band drunk for days! That would be great for morale but you sense that's not all. You force the tax collector to tell you his secrets so he moves a barrel to show you where this week's taxes were kept. A sack of twelve copper coins. You aren't from a very rich village but this is far more than they could afford to pay every week without going hungry.

Your hostage looks nervous and you get a hunch. You force him to strip at knifepoint and find a pouch in a hidden shirt pocket! The pouch is heavy with silver. There must be four coins there. No, five! Now you've done it! You're rich! Filthy stinking rich! You climb out and force the tax collector to follow. Some of the lads are waiting for you in the kitchen, rummaging through his pantry to take his fresh bread and clean water. A couple of them look pissed. "What the hell boss!? Ye let us fight the bastard while ye skulked off to-" You hold your fist out. "Shut yer gob. I found his booze cellar." The look on the lad's faces goes from pissed to stunned. "...Ye's boss for a reason."
>>
>>4925772
You need to decide what to do now. You found two barrels of mid-quality beer. 1 barrel of 20 beer and 1 barrel of 9. You can't carry them without a wagon but you can hardly leave them in the tax collector's basement. Getting drunk would make the men happy but the local lord's men-at-arms in full harness will discover your betrayal soon and you don't want to be in the village when that happens. You also found 46 food, rare, fresh bread that'll make the men happy to eat and tide you over for the next few days. You also found the tax collector's family. His wife, very pretty, she still has most of her teeth, and two boys, neither old enough to join the band. You need to decide what to do with the tax collector. Leaving him alive might make the local lord show mercy and make your execution quick but killing him would make the band infamous around these parts. If he died painful somewhere public. That would make you downright notorious.

You look over the looters. 8 of them are fine but 2 were injured. The one who was cut in the face was lucky. It's only a nasty-looking flesh wound but the one who was stabbed in the belly is nauseous. He might not make it and carrying him with you would slow the band down. You look at the guard. He's been beaten to death and his gambeson is ruined but his sword is good. You take it for yourself since you found the beer and nobody protests. You've also got the tax collector's coins. The coppers are worth 3 Loot but they belong to the village and giving them back would earn a little goodwill. That could be dangerously generous, though. The generous kinds of bandits are hunted even more fiercely than the rapists and arsonists. Maybe that's what you want though. Maybe you want to teach the local lord a lesson and make things better for the dirt farmers. Maybe you want to live the high-life and not worry about fools too cowardly to stop working for the kind of bastard that employs bastards like the tax collector. The lads would appreciate the copper. You have the pouch of five silvers... a small fortune, worth 15 Loot. Too much to spend in a place like here but it's a lot and the lads might want you to divvy it up. You could keep it and make them eat crow but their morale would suffer. You could just hide it and find it later when the time is right. It would be bad if they found it but you're too smart for that, aren't you?
>>
>>4925774
The lads want to know. What's the plan?

>Nameless Protagonist (NP):
>You're the Looter that happens to be in charge. You're Greedy and have a shortsword. You also have 15 Loot of silver all to yourself unless you decide not to keep it a secret.

>The Lads: NP, 10 Looters, (2 Injured) 56 Food, (-11 Food per day) 3 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound, 1 severe stomach wound
>Morale: The lads are very excited. They've got more food than they can eat and beer too!
>Infamy: Nobody knows that the lads decided to start a Looter gang but they will soon.
>>
>>4925777
Might not be a bad idea to post some options in the future, QM, especially for a decision like this. That said, here's what I'm thinking:

>Go take a 'piss' and hide the loot. Right now is prime time for getting shanked by one of your goons for the loot. If anyone tries to follow you to your peeing, call them a queer.

>Give the belly-stabbed guy some beer to make him feel better, then put him out of his misery.

>Leave the Tax Collector and his family. We're not an average band of thugs.

>Give the coppers to the village.

>Lastly, find a cart or something and head innawoods--you and THE LADS can probably set up a sweet BANDIT CAMP.
>>
>>4925777
The genius plan

Step 1: Split the copper amongst the lads
Step 2: Take a wagon or horse or whatever the tax collector has to put stomach man in for easier movement
Step 3: Get the group out of the forest and try to tend to stomach man's wounds- just enough for him to stay alive.
Step 4: Skip to another town. Use a silver coin to pay a doctor to fix up stomach man. We have to show the lads we'll take care of them.
Step 5: Find a seedy bar, shop, or shitty shanty house we can purchase/rent to use as a base in another town
Step 6: Start plotting our next crime

The sooner we get out of this town, the better. We didn't risk our hides to be a good man- we did it to get us and the lads rich. We take care of our own, we get some more money, and maybe when we have enough resources actually give them gear and train them to be more than just ragamuffins. Once our core crew can handle themselves and we have some disposable cash, we can start recruiting proper. Staying small for now will hopefully attract less attention
>>
>>4925777
Changing >>4925804
to
>>4925835
This anon's got the right idea.
>>
>>4925835
>>4925841
You think you'll go take a piss and hide the silvers but then you hear the stabbed groaning and realize that's not what this was about. You didn't choose to be a looter to get rich or to take care of the serfs. You chose to get the lads together to be looters and get the lads rich and take care of the lads! If you let a man die when you could've stopped that... you're no better than the local lord. Fuck that. You've got a plan. Five silvers is a lot of money and you know just how to spend it. You get the band together in front of the tax collector's house. Some are looking like they're a second from burning the place down, raping his wife, and mounting everyone else's heads on pikes but the rest aren't sure and you lay down the law.

"LISTEN UP! We'll be tyin' up in the kitchen, tight enough they can't get out by next morning, loose enough they can before they get too thirsty." One of the looters scowls. "What? Why dun we jus' bust they heads?" You wave the sword you don't know how to use in a way that looks sort of cool. "Cause LOOK AT US! We's a handful of fools with no weapons, no armor, no skills. You know what'll happen if'n we kill 'em?" The looters look each other and a couple nod. "The local lord's men-at-arms..." You finish the sentence. "In full harness- will come hunting us down. Here's what we do: we tie 'em up and leave 'em with their lives. Then we's just another group of outlaws, not on the top of his list. Killin' a guard's one thing. The tax collector's another. Fuck him though." A confused looter starts to shuffle his pants. "NO! Not like that. On uhhh, on principle. Now, go find us a cart or a mule! Got to be one around here somewhere. Look at the fat bastard! Do ye think he does much walkin'?"

>Roll 1d20+1 to find a means of transportation
>>
Rolled 11 + 1 (1d20 + 1)

>>4925894
> A confused looter starts to shuffle his pants.
Made me kek. You're alright, QM.
>>
>>4925897
You manage to find a lame donkey. It's not very good but it's better than nothing. The lad with the stomach wound gets to ride it while the one with the face wound leads its bridle. The rest of them get to help move the barrels, yourself included, since you'll be drinking it too. Carrying the beer will slow you down but no more than the lame donkey will and a lot less than having the wounded man walk. You count it a win and you leave the tax collector's house. It's on the outskirts of the village and it's getting late in the night. There's no guarantee the injured man won't get an infection if you take a long time. If you're serious about getting him treated you'll have to move fast.

The lads head out into the woods away from the village they were born in. An hour later when they get far enough they aren't worried about the guards catching them they stop and look at the poor bastard's stomach. You aren't a healer but you can tell it's bad. Maybe not as bad as it could be but bad. There's a wide and deep cut into his belly, something oozing out, and his face looks a little green. You clean it out and then sew it shut the best you can. A mostly clean rag works to bandage it and then you keep moving. The looter whose face was cut is fine. The sword was a clean blade and it was a fairly shallow but long and vicious looking cut. Odds are it won't get infected and it'll just make a nasty scar. He's happy about it and keeps talking about how great a tavern story it's going to make.

You need to choose where you're going to go and try to get the lad's wound looked at. You've got to keep the local lord's men-at-arms in mind too. You don't want to risk getting caught too early.

>Back to the village, Falkirk. The village elder isn't formally trained but he's been around for a long time and would likely do it for free. Or poison your lad and rat you out to the local lord the moment you're out of his sight. Not like he could do much though. You and the lads are about half the farming age men here.
>To Murkwell. It's a village in the swamps where a few dozen people live. It's distant and will take about four days to get there but you bet they have someone who knows their work and not many guards to worry about.
>To Dalmerlington. It's an outpost where the local lord keeps his garrison of men-at-arms in full harness. Going here would be bold but it's only two days, on the way to Wakefield, and if you outrun the rumors you bet you could bribe the surgeon working there.
>To Wakefield. It's a proper town of a hundred people. You can't imagine that many people in one place. It's three days to the north and you bet that with that many people there's bound to be a healer. Maybe you could even have the band blend in for a little while.
>Innawoods. Heading to town so soon is dangerous and you did what you can. Right now you need to lay low and find a place to stash your barrels and any future Loot you come across.
>>
>>4925922
>To Wakefield. It's a proper town of a hundred people. You can't imagine that many people in one place. It's three days to the north and you bet that with that many people there's bound to be a healer. Maybe you could even have the band blend in for a little while.

No clue if Stomach Lad will survive 3 days, but this might be the best middle ground for now.
>>
>>4925922
>To Murkwell. It's a village in the swamps where a few dozen people live. It's distant and will take about four days to get there but you bet they have someone who knows their work and not many guards to worry about.
>>
>>4925922
>To Wakefield. It's a proper town of a hundred people. You can't imagine that many people in one place. It's three days to the north and you bet that with that many people there's bound to be a healer. Maybe you could even have the band blend in for a little while.
>>
Rolled 47 (1d100)

>>4925932
>>4925941
You can't be sure how long the lad will last with a wound like that but you can't put the lives of everyone else at risk. Dalmerlington is too dangerous and Murkwell is too far. You'll travel to Wakefield and hope for the best. The mud squishes underfoot while you and the others trudge through the woods next to the road. You don't have a tracker among you and the risk of getting lost is very serious. It's started to rain. You have a long trip ahead of you.

>Roll 1d100-10 for the local lord's response
>Roll 1d20-2 for the stomach wounded looter's recovery
>>
Rolled 2 - 2 (1d20 - 2)

>>4925960
Come on you bastard, LIIIIIVE!
>>
Rolled 87 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4925960
>>
Rolled 64 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4925960
>>
Rolled 65 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4925960
>>4925963
RIP Tummy Lad

Here goes for the lord...
>>
>>4925965
77 then
>>
>>4925963
>>4925965
Halfway through the first day of riding the wounded lad starts coughing up blood. It's a wet nasty cough and it doesn't stop. The lad keeps getting paler and paler and it isn't long before he's barely clinging to the donkey. By the time night gets here he's vomiting. You don't have tents to pitch and it's too risky to make a fire so you sit and look your men in the eyes. They know and you know and the man knows that unless a miracle happens he's a goner. You need to make a hard decision.

>To hell with the odds! You don't care if he suffers and slows down your men. If there's the slightest chance he can survive you have to take that chance.
>Give him enough beer to make the pain go away and when he goes to sleep you'll cut his head off yourself. It's cruel to make a dead man live.
>Let him decide what he wants to do. You aren't sure if the lads won't see this as weakness from their boss and he might make a choice you disagree with but he has the right.
>>
>>4925982
>To hell with the odds! You don't care if he suffers and slows down your men. If there's the slightest chance he can survive you have to take that chance.
Power of criminal friendship!!! Try using some of the beer to disinfect his wound, and take off our shirt and tie it around him to help keep in the blood better
>>
>>4925982
>To hell with the odds! You don't care if he suffers and slows down your men. If there's the slightest chance he can survive you have to take that chance.
>>
>>4925982
You know what? You guys have inspired me!

>To hell with the odds! You don't care if he suffers and slows down your men. If there's the slightest chance he can survive you have to take that chance.
>>
Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4925986
>>4926031
>>4926033
Damn it all, and to hell with the odds! He's still breathing isn't he? If you need to move slower you'll move slower, if he dies he dies but if he lives, you'll do everything you can to keep him living. About a mug's worth of the beer is wasted and soaked into his wound. There's some grumbling but they heard the same rumors about it stopping miasma from setting in that you have. You tie your shirt off to his wound to replace the bloody rag and get moving at first light. It's raining thick and the sky is gloomy but spirits are high and you have a good feeling about this.

>The Nameless Protagonist is an Idealist: he might get a bonus if he survives and keeps making Idealistic choices

You hope your gut feeling's right.

>Roll 1d20-5 for the stomach wounded looter to survive
>>
Rolled 14 + 5 (1d20 + 5)

>>4926078
DON'T YOU QUIT ON MEEEEE
>>
>>4926086
Gonna roll as well just incase
>>
Rolled 9 - 5 (1d20 - 5)

>>4926109
whoops!
>>
Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>4926086
You might've been right. You might've been wrong. Hard to tell. The lad's damned pale and sweating hard but he stopped coughing up blood earlier this morning. You aren't sure if he's going to make it but the band was dead sure he would be dead by noon but now he's not. Two or three of the looters are looking at you different, with something strange in their eyes. You're no militia sergeant but you think that means they're starting to look at you like you're a leader and not just another one of the lads. The world's going to hell but you don't care. It isn't your duty to care but these men are yours and you'll do right by them. Wounded or not.

At the rate you've been moving Dalmerlington is too risky to get near so you take two more hours to go the long way around. The town of Wakefield's not too much farther now. If your lad can hold out just one more day you can put one of the silver coins in your pocket to proper use and maybe buy some proper weapons. You aren't able to buy some serious spears, shields, or maille without getting suspicion but if you can find an ironsmith, some pitchforks, billhooks, and hatchets could go far. Much farther than flimsy sticks and paring knives. It's been two days now since you abandoned your serfdom and hit the tax collector's house which means the way you had him tied, they've had one day to get the guards together and launch a search party. There's only a couple of guards left in the village, and odds are they wouldn't be able to get the family the lads behind to hunt them down so they'll have to do it themselves. They'll know how many of you there are from the tax collector so they'll probably not want to fight you themselves. Not when they could alert the garrison at Dalmerlington... which you just passed.
>>
>>4926128
You're a group of ten desperate men but you're moving slow and come to think of it, a squad of three or four men riding at a breakneck pace with confiscated donkeys could've easily outrun you and reach the garrison first. Huh. You're glad you decided not to head into Dalmerlington now but where they'll be looking, who knows? Might be a dozen crack men-at-arms in full harness on their way to rummage through Falkirk to see if anyone knows where you went. Might've decided you weren't worth sending a search party after. You have no way of knowing yet and that worries you.

Nothing to do for it but keep walking. This whole outlaw business has a lot more walking than you thought it would.

>Roll 1d20-6 for the stomach wounded looter to survive

>Nameless Protagonist (NP):
>You're the Looter that happens to be in charge. You're a Greedy Idealist and have a shortsword. You also have 15 Loot of silver all to yourself unless you decide not to keep it a secret.

>The Lads: NP, 10 Looters, (2 Injured) 34 Food, (-11 Food per day) 3 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound, 1 extreme stomach wound
>Morale: The lads are having mixed feelings. On one hand, they're glad they have beer and you kept the wounded man alive. On the other, they haven't got to drank any of it, the wounded man is at death's door, and they're fugitives moving at a snail's pace!
>Infamy: The lads raided a tax collector's house but left him alive. Didn't give his money back either. Strange. Are they soft or stupid?
>Belongings: 2 barrels of beer, (20/20)(7/20)
>>
Rolled 9 - 6 (1d20 - 6)

>>4926130
LIIIIIVE, DAMN IT!
>>
>>4926132
You were wrong. Damn it all. You were wrong. This morning you went around to wake up the men but the lad with the pierced stomach... Lad was limp, pale, and his arms were stiff. You smacked him in the face but he wouldn't wake up. You shook him by the shoulders but he wouldn't wake up. You kicked him in the ribs and shouted to the sky and poured precious, precious beer on his face but he wouldn't wake up. You about drew your sword and went to cut him just to see if he would move, then a couple of stout men grabbed your forearm and wouldn't budge.

"Listen damn ye, LISTEN! He's dead boss. The man's dead. Ain't no bringin' him back." You spit on the ground. "No. NO." You pull your sword and start screaming but another man smacks you in the face and snaps you out of it. "Get yerself together damn it! Ye did everything ye could've. Ye did more than I would've." You lean on a tree and can't stop staring at the body. "..." The band's gotten on their feet and they're looking at you. "Boss, he was dead the secon' that bastard's sword went in his belly. All of us knew it too but ye didn't want to believe it." One of the lads starts to break down. "Ye wouldn' let us believe it." You stare down misty-eyed and sheath the sword. Goddamn it all. He's really dead.

You know deep inside that he'll only be the first of many. That doesn't mean you have to accept it. You've got to do something with the body and decide whether this changes plans or not.

>Let him rot where he laid. That's all most of anyone gets these days.
>Dig him a pit and toss him in. It'll be long and miserable work without shovels.
>Stick him in a pile of tinder and let him burn. The smoke might draw attention.
>Feh, you'll be taking the body with you and when it rots you'll carry the bones.

The lads want to know where they're headed.

>Same as before. Wakefield, to do business and figure out your next steps.
>Innawoods. You need to find somewhere you can stash the beer barrels.
>You'll backtrack and go somewhere else, somewhere distant... Murkwell.
>You'll backtrack to Falkirk and take care of some unfinished business.
>>
>>4926155
>Let him rot where he laid. That's all most of anyone gets these days.
At bare minimum throw some leaves on him and give a quick prayer

>Same as before. Wakefield, to do business and figure out your next steps.

Although I prefer Murkwell, we can't really afford to waste time and resources backtracking now. We'll continue as planned.
>>
>>4926155
>Stick him in a pile of tinder and let him burn. The smoke might draw attention.

Screw it, we'll be long-gone by then and he deserves more than being food for some woodland critters.

>Same as before. Wakefield, to do business and figure out your next steps.
>>
>>4926182
Support. The more we care for the Lads, the more the Lads care for us.
>>
Just got in the thread and I'm to tired to read what the fuck is happening looter bros
>>
>>4926296
We robbed a tax collector for some sick cash and beer, in the fight one guy got nicked in the face and the other got his stomach cut open, we tried to save him but he ended up dying, Now we're on our way to another town to try and set up a base and plot more crimes so we can get money to get proper gear and train etc,
>>
>>4926299
We absoloutley need to give all of our lads balaclavas made of leather and knives.
>>
>>4926182
>>4926183
You look at the body and think for a minute. The lads are huddled around, some looking nervous, others frustrated at the notion of digging a hole in the mud with their hands, but you shake your head. "No lads, we ain't gonna bury him. We's gonna burn him. Go fetch some kindlin'." One of the sharper men jerks his head in the vague direction of Dalmerlington. "Wot about the local lord 'n his men-at-arms in-" You scowl "I don't care about the local lord or his full harnesses, we owe the man that much. He wasn't a good man, damn, none of us are, but he was our man n' we ought to do right by what's left of him." Nobody contests your command and they spread out looking for firewood. Actually burning the body is a drawn-out and messy process.

The wood is damp, the ground is wet, and there's a drizzle soaking everything in rain. You have to start over when the fire doesn't catch a few times but his body is still recognizable and it's a gruesome sight. The common men are used to gruesome sights though and you keep to it, eventually getting a slow-burning blaze and a plume of black, greasy smoke. Odds are it'll be noticed but you watch and wait to make sure the fire burns. It only burns most of the body, his bones are still mostly intact, but they're only bones and this way, his corpse won't be a meal for the next scavenger to stumble on the "pyre."

You move a hell of a lot faster without that donkey weighed down but nobody seems to prefer it this way. You all know that pile of burnt bones could've been anyone of you just as easy as the last. It's a scary thought but the world's a scary place. The trip to Wakefield doesn't take much longer and goes without incident. You see the farmfields a good while before you see the town. They're growing historically accurate lentils, cabbages, and wheat. They will be anyway, it's early in the summer and most of the work of planting's been done so all they have to do is wait. That's good for you since it means there aren't any farmers out that might spot your band. The town itself is big, very big, four times the size of Falkirk, easy, and most of its buildings look like wood shanties instead of mud huts. You're extremely impressed and so are the rest of your men. You bet you could find almost anything at the marketplace in the middle of town.
>>
>>4926609
Wakefield awaits. You need to be careful though, for even with silver your coin is limited and the local lord's reach... is far-reaching.

Who all ought to enter? Everybody else will be camped out somewhere outside of the town all sneaky-like.

>Just you. Nobody will probably think a lone traveler is serious enough to get the local guard's attention.
>You and a couple of the lads. More suspicious but if trouble does happen you might be able to get away easier.
>The whole damned band. Ten men without a merchant's wagon could stir some serious controversy, and rumors.

What about the beer?

>You'll take it into town and try to sell it to the highest bidder. Be bad for morale but you need the money.
>You'll keep it. One of your men died to get your hands on the barrels and you'll be damned if you waste it.
>>
>>4926611
>You and a couple of the lads. More suspicious but if trouble does happen you might be able to get away easier.
>You'll keep it. One of your men died to get your hands on the barrels and you'll be damned if you waste it.

If any one asks just mention that there's some bandits on the roads ;)
>>
>>4926611
I like >>4926718 idea. Also, why don't we change one of the silver coins in copper ones? We could still say that maybe we were a little merchant crew and some bandits attacked us, some flee like we did and we could rescue the barrel.
>>
>>4926611
>Just you. Nobody will probably think a lone traveler is serious enough to get the local guard's attention.

>You'll keep it. One of your men died to get your hands on the barrels and you'll be damned if you waste it.

Let the men enjoy some of the beer outside of town while they wait for us to get a place to stay. We can also establish an order- something like "You enter town and come find me in the market after an hour, then you then next hour..." etc. etc. until they're all shuffled in and taken care of so it's less suspicious
>>
>>4926718
>>4926733
You and a couple of the lads will head into Wakefield. It could be less risky to go alone but if you had a stroke of bad luck, it would be a death sentence. Better to be in a group, that way if you're caught by the local guards there's a better chance you can give them the slip. If someone asks what you're there for you'll give them an excuse, maybe that you're merchants and lost your caravan to looters? Heh, there are bandits on the road after all. The rest of the lads will stay out in the woods and you give them permission to make the less full barrel a little less heavy while you're in town, 'cause you know damned well they'll be drinking it no matter what you say and it looks better if you tell them too. Besides, they've earned it and maybe it'll take their mind off of things. You still aren't sure what to make of what happened.

You approach the road going into town and a sleepy looking guard sizes you up. You elbow jab a man in the side and whisper. "Act natural-like."

>Roll 1d20-2 for bluffing you aren't dangerous bandits
>>
Rolled 15 - 2 (1d20 - 2)

>>4926753
>>
>>4926755
You and the men don't stop for the guard. You keep walking at a steady pace and look at him nervously but it would be more suspicious if you didn't. The guard watches you go for a minute and shrugs on his spear. "Don't go causin' any trouble now, ye hear?" You nod and look at the road instead of meeting his eyes. "Nope, nosiree. No trouble here." The guard smirks a second then goes back to staring at the road all day. Poor bastard. You got in homefree and now you've got some time to look around. Time to take care of business. You doublecheck your pocket. Five silver coins makes for a lot of business in most places. Wouldn't be hard to get someone to trade copper for one or two, neither.

It's early in the morning and you've got a long day ahead.

>Go find an ironsmith, a town this size is sure to have one.
>Look at the marketplace in the center of town, maybe browse a little.
>Get to the nearest bar to drink and listen for rumors. Mostly to drink.
>See if there's a shrine. You aren't very religious but it might be nicer than Falkirk's.
>Case out the town. Looting is all about knowing what places are good to loot.
>Mug somebody. That guard went and gave you a thirst for violence.
>>
>>4926760
>Case out the town. Looting is all about knowing what places are good to loot.
Look for places to rob but also look for any shanties for sale or shops that seem like they'd be willing to have a few extra assholes hang around to pay rent. We need a base of operations
>>
>>4926760
>Get to the nearest bar to drink and listen for rumors. Mostly to drink.
Might gain some info on a good mark.
>>
>>4926760
>See if there's a shrine. You aren't very religious but it might be nicer than Falkkirk's.
>>
Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>4926774
>>4926810
>>4926931
You have a hard time deciding on where to go and end up in a heated argument with the lads you brought after a few minutes.

>1: Case out the town
>2: Get to the nearest bar
>3: See if there's a shrine
>>
>>4927098
This is a supply run, forget all the secondary objectives go for supplies
More resistant clothes camping supplies hunting gear etc
If anyone ask you want to give hunting a try
We wont have enough for all the lads bit we will eventually
>>
>>4927115
Change that cover to selling the gear to hunters in a remote village or something, you getting bear pelts and shit i hope some other anon can improve this idea
>>
>>4927098
The argument goes on about ten minutes then one of the looters turns and starts stomping away. You shout after him. "Where the hell are ye going?" He looks over his shoulder and squints his eyes. "The nearest drinkin' hole, to forget this gobshite!" You watch him go for a little and have an epiphany. "Ye know, that's actually a damned good idea." The other man doesn't contest it and after asking for directions you're in the Bitter Helmet, a local tavern mostly used by locals but there aren't many in this early and the owner doesn't mind outside coin. You have the five silver coins, of course, but also two copper coins from your share of the loot. That's enough to get a mug of beer or two, low-quality compared to the barrels you stole, but not half bad. You see the other two men shuffle off to a table with their drinks and start loudly reminiscing about the time one got his foot stuck in a tree stump. Every couple of seconds they look back at you and it hits you that they didn't ask permission.

You think you need to be more decisive if you don't want the men to start doubting your leadership but they're the lads and you're no petty tyrant like the local lord. No harm, no foul. You look at the owner, he's a stocky old bastard with a limp and a frown. He looks at you and keeps cleaning the same mug that he's been cleaning for the last fifteen minutes. You look at the rest of the tavern and see two other tables are occupied. There's a couple of spinsters and a younger woman that look rather aggrieved about something and a greasy, hairy, half-starved looking man staring into an empty mug with a look of despair. That right there's a drunk if you've ever saw one but it's hard to pin the other three. This world's going to hell and they could be sad about anything. Not your problem though, not unless you wanted it to be.

The barkeep glares at you. "Hrmmm..." Right, you've been sitting here for about fifteen minutes now gawking at his place of business. He probably knows a lot about the town but he won't talk unless you either buy something or hand over some coin.

>Ask the barkeep why he's got the limp and why his tavern's called the Bitter Helmet.
>Purchase a mug of low-quality beer and ask if he's heard anything unusual lately.
>Discretely hand the barkeep a silver coin and ask if he's heard anything rather unusual lately.
>Fuck it, openly ask the barkeep what a silver coin can get you, in earshot of both of your lads.
>Go to the sad women and ask them what they're weeping about. Maybe you could help them.
>Go to the drunk and talk him into joining the band. That's a prime recruit if you've ever seen one.
>>
>>4927127
>Purchase a mug of low-quality beer at twice its price and ask if he's heard anything unusual lately.
Try to make casual talk about what you can do or get in this town, the local specialties
Ask
>>
>>4927127
>Go to the drunk and talk him into joining the band. That's a prime recruit if you've ever seen one.
>Discretely hand the barkeep a silver coin and ask if he's heard anything rather unusual lately.
>>
>>4927211
+1ing this
>>
>>4927211
+1
>>
>>4927211
This
>>
>>4927211
>>4927219
>>4927248
"Oi barkeep. Gimme a mug of beer." The scowl on his face lessens and he gets a cask out from under the counter. "Ahlright. That's be one copper." He pours it full and hands you the mug but you drop two coins in the palm of his hand. He smiles and shows a couple of cracked teeth. "Generosity's much appreciated." You grab the handle and take a sip. It's bitter, a little rank, and watered down but it's not bad. You swallow and resist the urge to chug and get it down fast. You gesticulate with your hand, since you left your sword back at camp since it's illegal for a serf to own a sword, and talk. "Ain't charity old man. What can ye tell me about Wakefield? It's the first time me n' the lads have been in town. Like to know what it's all about, what there is to do n' whatnot."

The barkeep grins. "Suuure, if'n ye don't mind my askin'. What are ye n' yer friends here fer?" You shrug and take a swig. "Just business. Nothin' much." He nods knowingly. "Ain't no need to go askin' fer a man's business. Now, then, about Wakefield..."

You listen intently while he explains everything there is to know about Wakefield, or at least everything that the average merchant from a distant city would know about the town. It has a population of around one-hundred and twenty since the last census was collected about a decade ago and most of the people living there get by farming the fields but some make a living logging the woods near town. There's a lot of overlap between the two, especially outside of the planting and harvesting season, and not much distinction to the locals. As far as industry goes, there's a surly but fair ironsmith that's got a couple of apprentices on the outskirts of town, and he doesn't officially forge any weapons but maintains some of the gear of the men-at-arms in Dalmerlington, and there's a still that brews enough beer to keep the Wakefielders from getting too sober year-round and sometimes a little extra. Apart from them, more lucrative business happens with the guildhouse by the marketplace. It's a small building that belongs to the woodcarver's guild and they have a couple of guildsmen there but no actual woodcarvers. Supposedly, it's there to keep wood from the local lumberjacks nice and dry until the woodcarvers call for more, and then ship it out on one of their wagons every other month. Because the wood's bought in bulk from the finest logs that are cut, he imagine there's a fair amount of silver kept there but that's none of your business to worry about, is it? Or is it?
>>
>>4927359
The barkeep continues and explains that there's a marketplace in the town center, where a handful of traveling merchants set up their stalls. At the moment, there's a candle and wine seller pandering to the richer locals, a cheap clothier with sturdy blankets, a mysterious wagon that just started unpacking, and a general peddler who's sold most of his inventory and is about to head out of town. For entertainment, there's the Bitter Helmet which he recommends, guffawing, an empty field where some of the locals play toss-ball, and an old, crumbling shrine to the All-God nobody's been to in months. He's surprised the church hasn't sent a priest to restore the place but Wakefield isn't the most conveniently located settlement. Out of curiosity, you ask him if there's anywhere up for sale or for rent and he thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. Most buildings are already lived in and the handful that aren't are the property of the local lord, who hasn't visited in years.

They're also falling apart and dangerous, riddled with termites and the roof might fall in on your head. The guards don't much care about them though, since there's not much that happens besides a couple of riffraff too crippled or too lazy to find work holed up in them but they aren't organized or dangerous enough to be a problem worth worrying about. The barkeep doesn't say much else about the town but he does warn you, there have been a few disappearances and rumors of something wrong and horrible in the woods. He doesn't put much stock in hearsay but all of the disappearances were sturdy woodcutters with healthy families and stable jobs. There's definitely something happening to them. Also a nasty strain of the pox what passed through last season but it's mostly gone now and that's regular news everywhere.

You thank the barkeep for his time and notice that your mug's empty. You know a little more about Wakefield. Might be enough to make a move or get your band taken care of. Things are feeling a bit more open-ended than usual.

>Do something else in the bar
>Go visit somewhere in town
>Go back and get the band
>>
>>4927362
>Go to the marketplace and make an exploratory run before deciding what to buy search for stuff that might be usefull

Maybe we should considere checking out one of the abandoned buildings
>>
>>4927362
So, first things first everybody, are we Lööting the town(eventually), or are we here in peace?

either way
>check out the clothier for blanket prices
>check out the ironmonger for some "tool" prices
>see what the peddler has left

This will inform our further decisions
>>
>>4927394
+1, solid plan of action
>>
>>4927394

Agreed, we're definitely gonna need to be careful out in the woods with somethin going bump in the night. Bare minimum having 2 men on watch at all times in my opinion. Hopefully we can get some stout tools, i imagine billhooks would be very useful to have. We should probably grab a few shovels for that matter.

I'm of the opinion we should hit a merchant or two on the road and then move on, we're far from being strong enough to loot a town like this.
>>
>>4927362
>>>Do something else in the bar
>Talk to the half-starved man. See if we can convince him to join us.
He is probably a local and that will surely help us get situated in the town, avoiding guards and plotting the looooooot. I think that we can spread out in the city and have the 8 boys and the leader squatting at different run down building, sharing the place with beggars of course.
Maybe the half-starved man has a story to tell (his life, of course) that we might even help him with, employing our new founded Idealism. The Greed gotta be put to work too!
>>
>>4927394
>>4927406
>>4927411
You just about go to get another mug but remember you spent the second copper you had on the first and excuse yourself. The barkeep starts cleaning yours out and you gather the lads. It's time to do some legitimate business. You find the marketplace without much trouble and gawk at the sheer size of the place. It's as big as five whole mud huts, six even, of empty space right in the middle of town for merchants to put their stalls in! To think, there are even bigger towns out there and even bigger cities than those... You can hardly imagine, so you don't, and pay attention to the stalls. There's a hook-nosed vendor who halfheartedly calls you over to look at his candles and wine but you ignore him and his large, menacing bodyguard and look at the others. There's a stall that's still being setup by three men who like brothers and don't acknowledge you much and another that's got numerous spools of cloth on display and blankets on hooks. You walk over and strike up a conversation with the hunched man knitting some kind of scarf. His prices are reasonable, four coppers for a blanket, ten for a thick one, and you contemplate your silver coins. If four copper coins are worth 1 Loot, and one silver coin is worth 3 Loot, that means that twelve copper coins match one silver coin. Interesting. Since you have five silver coins on you, that's the equivalent of sixty copper coins. Goddamn, that means you could buy fifteen blankets if you wanted to, enough for one for the entire band and five leftover! You could also buy six thick blankets which are comfier but obviously more difficult to make and expensive.

You head to the peddler's stall to see what he has for sale. He's a small man with a donkey and a few knickknacks. He's just packing up but happy to show you everything he has. You see pots and pans for eight coppers apiece, kitchen knives for four, and a funny looking stirring tool for six. It would be useless unless you needed to stir something but it's an interesting novelty. Besides that, he's selling a couple of small tents, twenty apiece, they're large enough to comfortably house a man, cramped for two, and absolutely jampacked for three. Not much else but a cracked hammer at a discount for four but you aren't sure it's worth the cost, it looks like it's about to snap in two. You ask him how business has been going and he mentions he's made a nice profit, enough that he mentions he's thinking about trying to get into the candle trade the asshat across the marketplace keeps bragging about. The peddler also says he's going to be going on the north road out of town but that he isn't worried about dangers on the road thanks to his crossbow, which he shows off in his cloak and pats. Far as you can tell, he's alone and will be leaving town in two more days. Might be worth considering "hard negotiations" if you don't like his prices.
>>
>>4927468
You leave the marketplace and go looking around for an hour and find the ironsmith's workshop. It's a very hot and noisy place, full of steam and banging noises from the back. The ironsmith himself is busy with a project so he has a snot-nosed and nervous-looking apprentice greet you. No bullshitting here, he lays down the prices nice and neat. If you want a kitchen knife, three coppers, a sturdy knife, six, a shovel, eighteen, a hatchet, sixteen, a woodcutting axe, twenty-two, a billhook, fourteen, a pitchfork, sixteen, and a threshing scythe, eighteen. Weapons or armor are out of the question for non-nobles as the ironsmith rather likes having his hands on his wrists. He's not willing to make custom-orders for out of towners unless it's on business with the local lord but the apprentice whispers and says if you have silver, he'll change it to eleven copper coins and keep quiet. That could be worth thinking about but if you went about changing your silver to copper, it would be at a slight loss. They'd probably make change if you purchased something though.

Now that you know what's for sale and what the prices are, do you want to buy anything or do something else instead?
>>
>>4927468
4 blankets 16
2 billhooks 28
1 hatchet 16

Hopefully we can haggle some on the blankets at least, but i think this would be decent, enough blankets to share and keep warm enough, 2 billhooks for good weapons, and a hatched for a decent weapon and good camp tool. Should be able to fashion some half decent clubs or wood spears too.
>>
>>4927503
Support, it's a good idea. Maybe once we get more Lööt we can come back for more blankets.
>>
Gotta be honest, my head hurts too much to read through the blocks of text tonight. Can give me a tldr on the last two updates? If not I'll read up and join back in tomorrow
>>
>>4927586
we found out what there was in town and then we checked out the interesting places
>>
I hope it aint dead
>>
>>4927503
This
>>
>>4928919
Seriously ibwas diggin the vibe
>>
>>4928862
Not dead, I was checking out the salt fields and can't post on mobile.

>>4927503
>>4927572
>>4928919
You contemplate the silver that's burning a hole in your pocket and decide that it's pointless to hold on to loot for loot's own sake ... when spending that loot well could make your men better looters and get you more opportunities to loot. You've never felt more alive than when you were looting that tax collector's home. You want to do that again and again and again. This peddler might not be worth the effort to rob, or maybe you're soft and won't admit it to yourself. Either way you approach the stall and pull out a couple of silver coins. Both of your men do a double-take and one glares. "Where the hell did ye find that?" The other snaps out of his shock. "And why didn't ye share it with the rest of us!?" You silence them with the palm of your hand. "I found it in the tax collector's shirt n' it ain't mine. It's the band's n' we're gonna spend it for the band. Now, shut yer yappin' n' pick out a couple of blankets. After this, we'll be getting us some right proper tools of the trade."

The angry looks on their faces are switched with something giddy and they dig into the peddler's stall. You make small talk with the trader and learn that there's apparently a shortage on salt in the region but that he's not wealthy enough to take advantage of it, or bold enough to risk getting his kneecaps broken by the employees of the ones who are. Interesting. The both of your men pick out a pair of blankets each and you hand over both of your silver coins, and get back eight coppers in exchange. The peddler looks a little surprised by the silver but doesn't pry, coin is coin. You think for a moment and realize that's a fair trade, since two silvers are worth twenty-four coppers but the blankets were only worth four apiece, so four would've been worth sixteen meaning you were right to get eight back.
>>
>>4929262
You leave the peddler behind and go back to the ironsmith. The same apprentice is on the counter and raises an eyebrow when you hand over three silver coins for a pair of sharp-looking billhooks, but he gives you back eight copper coins without question. You think for a minute, then give him the eight coppers from the peddler and the eight coppers he just gave you for a hatchet. That way you don't have any loose change for your men to argue about. Come to think of it, you don't have any change. Damn, you're broke again. Hopefully these billhooks and the hatchet you've bought with your hard-won loot can make you some more. That and the sword you left back with the lads. You wonder what they're doing back in the woods. Probably drinking the swill out of the barrels. You haven't drank any yourself, maybe you should have some before it's gone. A lad died for the men's right to drink, even if he didn't know he did when he got stabbed since you hadn't showed the lads the barrel yet. You didn't show them the silver either but you doubt they'll complain about the blankets.

The three of you leave the ironsmith with your hatchet and billhooks. You spent a while browsing and now it's about noon. Some outsiders staying in town too long could be suspicious, especially after spending silver, but you can think of plenty you could still do.

>Mug somebody for the coppers in their pockets
>See what's going on in those ruins the barkeep mentioned
>Case out the town, might be somewhere worth hitting in force
>Look at the crumbling shrine to the All-God
>To hell with Wakefield, get back to the lads before the beer's all gone!
>>
>>4929263
>>Mug somebody for the coppers in their pockets
>>
>>4929263
>>See what's going on in those ruins the barkeep mentioned
>>
>>4929263
>>See what's going on in those ruins the barkeep mentioned
>>
>>4929281
>>4929701
The band's already lost a man and almost lost another and that was only to a single local guard. The local lord has dozens if not hundreds of men-at-arms in full harness, and if you want to survive and grow, you need to have enough lads that losses here and there won't cripple you. Everyone of the lads signed on since they were tired of farming for a pittance they didn't even see most of, they decided if they had nothing to live for they would live for themselves, and those people the barkeep mentioned living in the ruins are probably no different. If they have nothing to live for, getting them to join the band shouldn't be difficult. It also seems to you like if the local guards don't patrol around them like he said they might make for a good spot to hide out. Maybe you could stash loot in a basement somewhere and leave a lad or two to keep watch while the rest are out looting and looking for loot. Maybe you could have all the lads living there, fortify the place the best you can, and keep the local guards away with the promise you'll do as many of them in as they would you. Maybe you could get a wagon, break some apart, and haul the materials to make your own buildings in the woods. Maybe you could do all of that or something else even. You're free men now and there's not a noble in this world who can tell you what to do. You pay sharp attention to the town.

>Roll 1d20 for scoping out the ruins
>>
>>4929263
>See what's going on in those ruins the barkeep mentioned

I'd like to stay on the move but potential base would be good
>>
Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>4929750
>>
Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>4929750
how many of those we roll? I'll roll mine
>>
>>4929754
You do some looking and find some of the ruins are just mud huts like back in Falkirk, down to them falling apart, except there's nobody living there. You find that some of them aren't, some are proper wood shacks and a few aren't scraps shoved into mud and nailed together, they're proper logs in proper cabins! Rotten and falling in yeah but sturdier than mud even like that. You imagine how living in a cabin that's fresh must feel but you never had a hope of knowing before you left. It was illegal for a serf to cut the local lord's wood without a license from the local lord and even more illegal to build something on the local lord's land without the local lord's permission. You're a runaway serf that's started a looter band, you breathing is illegal, so you don't need to worry about the local lord or his local laws anymore, only how to break them and get away with it, locally.

The two men with you help you look and one does some digging around in the mud. He even finds a rusted copper coin under a rock and you let him keep it, since he found it. Earned it too, what with him getting slick with mud and everything. You spot a couple of eyes looking at you from the shadows all sneaky-like and realize every one you three has a sharp billhook or hatchet in your hands. Now that you think of it, you're armed and dangerous. Not to these people though. They gots nothing to steal and besides, it don't get you any closer to doing... something to make things different. You do spot an old, out-of-the-way cabin that might make for an excellent spot, except you can see there's four people in there and when you look closer one of them waves a stick with menacing intent. They look real hungry, between you, the lads, and your new blades you could probably take them.
>>
>>4929799
You don't think they're all men either but you can't see clear enough to know what's going on. You go back around the rest of the ruins and see a few more places, none as good, but you only spotted a single local guard who was patrolling the dirt road opposite to the one you were on and didn't even glance at you. If you and the band had a mind to, you could definitely lay low here. Maybe not forever but for a while. You think there's maybe six, maybe a dozen people that was hiding from you. Probably desperate and none too fierce. You might be able to get some or all of them onboard if you really tried to. You could also mug one for nothing or better, try out your new blades on one of the local guards. That would show them right, selling out their fellow man for such nonsense like "stable wages" and "job security." It's maybe six hours until nightfall. Whatever you plan probably won't take more than a couple of hours but you know damned well once sundown gets here the lads will go wild with the barrels.

>Try to talk to the people holed up in that rotten cabin, they might be in a bad place.
>Beat and stab the people holed up in that rotten cabin, show them to threaten you.
>See if you can't recruit some of the wretches in the ruins here.
>Mug one of the locals, odds are it would be for fun since they're this poor.
>Find and whack a local guard for a spot of good fun, harharhar.
>Enough of buildings what are falling apart and folks that ain't much better, you want to see somewhere else.
>Get back to the lads, you've spent enough time in Wakefield.
>>
>>4929802
>Try to talk to the people holed up in that rotten cabin, they might be in a bad place.
>>
>>4929802
>>See if you can't recruit some of the wretches in the ruins here.
>>
>>4929802
>>See if you can't recruit some of the wretches in the ruins here.
We need 'em numbers!! Faceless mobs like a propper looter band
>>
Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>4929866
>>4929944
You're never going to get anywhere with ten men. Starving or not, you can feed 'em and they can hold a spear. Better living an outlaw's life than this. Hell, maybe having a local in the band could get you an edge, lighten the suspicion of looking around a little. Could be a good idea to get some masks come to think of it, hide your identities and whatnot. Of course it ain't like they don't know who you and the lads are back at Falkirk but word don't travel fast and they don't know faces. Could trick 'em, maybe. You see these people is scared of you, but if'n you got one you wager the rest wouldn't be so worried, what with them reassuring them you ain't one of the bad sorts of bandits and all. You have the men keep together and do their best to look nonthreatening, just in case. Not having a reputation one way or another isn't helping much.

>Roll 1d20-2 for recruitment
>>
Rolled 1 + 2 (1d20 + 2)

>>4929983
excelent!! Do you think we can lean on our Idealist side for a bonus to that roll? maybe a flat +1 to how much people we recruit? If it works I mean.
>>
Rolled 16 + 2 (1d20 + 2)

>>4930053
I uh, rolled wrong. Haha, silly me.... I have to type dice+1d20-+2 ¿?
>>
Low rolls are good right?
>>
Rolled 6, 2 = 8 (2d6)

The salt fields are seriously cool, I took a couple of photos, see pic related.

>>4930056
No

>>4930053
Whew
>>
File: Spoiler Image (3713 KB, 4160x3120)
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>>4930067
Excuse me I am a retard that forgot to upload the image
>>
That's cool... I am yet unable to do the dice with a malus.
>>
>>4929983
>>4930053
You go rummaging around the alleyways and the like before you spot a damned scrawny looking beggar. He looks at you with a scared look on his face so you smile and shout, "Oi sad cunt! Wanna join our looter band? Free eats n' we's plannin' to get back at the local lord!" The fucker looks at you a second and then sprints the opposite direction, far as his legs can carry him. Damn. One of the lads pats you on the shoulder. "Don't worry boss, we'll get the next one fer sure." You shrug. "Yeah, can't 'em all. Think of those poor fuck's still farming back in Falkirk, heh." The other man grunts. "Yeah, think of 'em... Stupid! Harharhar!" You all have a good laugh for a minute and then you hear a loud shout. "Oi! What's this then!?"

You turn to one side of the street and spot a loose group of four local guards, armed with shortswords, holding bucklers, and fitted with gambeson. You spot the same beggar you saw earlier, cowering next to them, holding a piece of bread and looking ashamed. One of the local guards shouts, "A batch of vagrants, trying to tempt loyal serfs of the local lord into sedition!?! Buying goods with stolen silver in broad daylight?!?" You look to the others and back to the guard. The guard smirks. "Yeah, we know all about yer thievery! This upstanding citizen here told us all about it, helped us piece together the suspicious activity an honest traveling merchant reported to us for a rightfully earned two copper reward." You swallow but your throat is dry. The guard continues. "Yep, n' we got a report from Dalmlerlington about a new band of looters up from Falkirk." He spits on the ground. "Scum. That's what ye is n' now we know. We got ye right where we want ye. Don't try to resist. There's, ah, four of us n' only three of ye."
>>
>>4930102
You look to the others and back to the guards. You heft the billhook in your hand and a lad speaks with a surprising amount of courage. "C'mon boss! Haaah! Look at these townies! We can take 'em!" You get encouraged and then a random patrol of two guards walks around the corner on the opposite of the street. "Uh..." You're analyzing the situation, you're only outnumbered two-to-one, and then a second bunch of two guards runs up to the first with their hands on their knees, like they're wheezing. The local guard looks stunned by his luck. Goddamn.

"Ha! See now, scum, the rewards of treachery? There are eight of us hardened guardsmen n' only three of ye common filth! Don't even try to resist! Come in quiet n' we'll make it quick!" You look at the other lads and think fast. The one who was brave earlier frowns. "Uh... I don't know if we can take 'em boss. Uhhh, what do we do?" The guard scowls. "I'm gon' count to three n' then we's gon' run ye through! Now, ONE!"

You think fast.

>RUN IN THE NEAREST ALLEYWAY ALL FAST-LIKE!
>RUN PAST THE PATROL BEFORE THEY REALIZE WHAT'S HAPPENED!
>CHARGE THE BASTARDS, THEY'LL NEVER SEE IT COMING!
>THEY'LL NEVER TAKE YOU ALIVE, MAKE A COURAGEOUS LAST STAND!
>EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF, THEY CAN'T STOP YOU IF YOU DON'T HAVE A PLAN!
>Tell your lads to run. You'll take your billhook and hold 'em off.
>Come quietly. They might spare your families then.
>>
>>4930103
>RUN PAST THE PATROL BEFORE THEY REALIZE WHAT'S HAPPENED!
GTFO
>>
>>4930103
>>RUN PAST THE PATROL BEFORE THEY REALIZE WHAT'S HAPPENED!
gittefakaout
>>
>>4930092
when rolling with malus, add a "+-" and then the number of the malus you're applying
>>
>>4930053
That's a bonus you can get if you holdfast to Idealist

>>4930092
You have to type "+-" or it won't register it as a malus, doesn't make much sense to me either.
>>
>>4930103
>>RUN IN THE NEAREST ALLEYWAY ALL FAST-LIKE

Shitballs
>>
Rolled 9 - 2 (1d20 - 2)

well I tried with -+2 derp. It does make sense! The dice system can only understand additions of the whole numbers. The best way to represent it should de +(-2) but yotsuba is japanese and they are not exactly smart
>>
Rolled 17, 16, 12, 5, 6 - 8 = 48 (5d20 - 8)

>>4930107
>>4930110
Goddamn. You're in it now. But you aren't caught yet. You shout "RUN!" and turn to sprint faster than that beggar did earlier, straight toward the confused looking patrol of guards. The lads look at each other and then hoof it after you while the five guards stand there, staring at the speaker, who you realize must be their captain since he's wearing a hat. "... TWO! Ah shit... fuck! THREE! After 'em! Go on, after 'em!" You run faster than you ever have in your life. You have no idea if you're going to get away with your life. At least you have a headstart.

>Roll 3d20 and GTFO
>>
Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>4930127
>>
Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>4930127
>>
Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>4930127
>>
Rolled 12, 19, 7, 6, 2 - 4 = 42 (5d20 - 4)

>>4930129
>>4930135
>>4930147
RUN! RUN! RUN! You move as fast as your legs can carry you, right past the patrolling guards and then you spot one of the lads already ducking around a corner on a street across from the street you just ran on! That's the fastest you've ever seen a man run but you look over your shoulder and see the other man. He never was very sharp and when you two sprinted, he stopped and looked back and forth between the alleyway and street before three local guards run and grab him by the arms. The wails from him will haunt you in the days to come. "NOOO! BOSS DON'T LEAVE ME PLEASE NOOO! AAAAAAAAGH!" You see them wrestling him on the ground and tying his wrists together. He tossed the billhook away and tried begging but you know that it's a waste of breath, they won't show him any mercy. Goddamn. Goddamn. Goddamn. You just keep running, you just can't stop running. Lucky the distraction gave you precious extra seconds to get away.

>Roll 1d20+4 and GTFO
>>
Rolled 12 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

>>4930180
>>
>>4930180
>>4930227
You run so fast your legs feel like they've been dipped in pitch and you still don't stop. Two of the local guards stop chasing you to keep your lad on the ground but the other three, now five, SHIT- keep chasing. These are well-fed, actually trained men sworn to the service of the local lord and only a week ago you were a dirt farmer who'd never left his own village but now you're a looter, and a looter means you're free. That's something you'll never give up and you run and you run and you run, and you're about to get away when a hand grabs you by the shirt and pulls you over. "Aha! I've got ye now scum!" You turn, look the guard in the eye and swing the billhook in your hand with righteous fury. The blade connects to something soft, then wet, then it's swinging through air and you've never felt more alive.

The voice in your throat echoes like thunder and you shove him onto the ground. "RAAAAAGH!" You aren't sure if the screams are yours or his. You get a second's glance of him, his bloody right hand is gone and his wrist's spewing blood, all over you and all over your billhook. You don't have time to think, you turn and sprint. The guard behind weeps. "MY HAAAND! HE CUT OFF MY BLOODY HAAAND! GODDAMN! HE CUT OFF MYYY BLOOOODY HAAAND!" You stumble back and run like a madman and reach into the alleyway and don't stop, you keep sprinting and darting in random directions until you physically cannot move any longer and you're in the woods. You collapse against a tree and take in a deep breath. You look down at the billhook and at your hand. They're both stained red. That's not the worst part. The man's hand's still attached to your back.

>Blood... Gore... You're starting to think you like the sight.
>By the All-God... You've never felt so alive! Hahaha!
>That serves the bastard right. A hand for a life.
>You... You just crippled a man... A good man! No, no, no!
>You don't feel anything, it's just numb inside.

Don't worry about these affecting the Idealist trait. You got very lucky. Also-

>Roll 2d20 for the aftermath of your two lad's escapes
>>
Rolled 10, 6 = 16 (2d20)

>>4930265
>By the All-God... You've never felt so alive! Hahaha!
>That serves the bastard right. A hand for a life.

Rollin
>>
>>4930265
>>By the All-God... You've never felt so alive! Hahaha!
>>
>>4930265
>>That serves the bastard right. A hand for a life.
>You don't feel anything, it's just numb inside.

A mix of subdued, grim satisfaction and numbness. We'll process it and either cry our eyes out or get a taste for blood later.
>>
Rolled 6, 20 = 26 (2d20)

>>4930265
>>You don't feel anything, it's just numb inside.
>>
Rolled 20, 19 = 39 (2d20)

>>4930265
>By the All-God... You've never felt so alive! Hahaha!
>That serves the bastard right. A hand for a life.
>>
>>4930275
>>4930275
>>4930355
>>4930443
>>4930453
By the All-God... You severed a man's hand. You pry it off your back and stare at it. The hand is tight, still clenching, and starting to get pale. Your throat is dry and your body is covered in sweat. You look at the hand. That belonged to a person... No. It belonged to a bastard, a bastard sworn to a bastard who would've tortured you and who tortured folks like you. The same kind of bastard that killed your lad and is probably killing the lad you weren't strong enough to save now. Now that bastard doesn't have a fucking hand. You grin. Your heart is pumping a hundred beats a minute but your insides are hollow and you don't know if you should go limp in shock or shout for joy that you're still breathing. You settle for standing. You fucking did it. By the All-God... You're a fugitive, went face-to-face with eight of the local lord's local guards, and you fucking lived.

You clench the hand and shove it in your pack. That bastard's hand is yours and now you have three. Serves him right, stealing lives, you'll steal his right hand! Now that, that is right proper justice! Goddamn, you need to get to your lads. You don't know where the others are but you remember where the camp is and stumble into it. You're barely standing after all that madness let alone keeping your tracks covered but you move fast and back at camp, you find something terrible. The lads back at camp are all fine, all seven of them left, sure they drank the full damned barrel but the man who ran, the one who outran you, is lying in the middle of the campsite with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest and a smile on his face. He's wheezing and giggling and when you grab a man by the shoulder and demand to know what the hell's happened, he says he doesn't know, he just saw the lad come running into camp with blood on his knife and dump a whole damned bag of coins onto the floor. You stare at it. You recognize it. That's the peddler's fucking bag which means... He found and killed the bastard, got shot, and then ran it back here. You fall onto your knees and grab him by the shoulders. "OH GODDAMN, GODDAMN NO! YE BEAUTIFUL BASTARD, NO!" He chuckles and rolls over. You think he's still breathing but you don't know for sure. There's a sack over his shoulder too. It looks like he stole the peddler's damned bag of pots and pans and tents and knives ran with it too.
>>
>>4930505
This is unreal. You feel like there was only a one-in-forty chance of that happening, and much smaller than that even that he could've gotten away without getting seen, which means... Hmm. If it was getting two hours till nightfall when he hit the marketplace, it was probably being shopped by the locals. Which means, if he has these bags, he ran right in the middle, cut the man's throat, and stole his goods, and ran off in front of them. All 'cause he sold you out for a couple of coppers. Fucking hell. You don't know if you're pissed or pleased but you know you can't stay here. You have to move! Fast! You grab your shortsword back, hitch it to your belt and hand the stoutest man in the band the billhook. The hatchet could be anywhere. You look at the goods and shout, "DON'T JUST STAND THERE YE FOOLS! MOVE! GET THE GOODS N' MOVE!" One of the lads grunts. "What happened to-" You slap him in the face. "HE'S DEAD! OR ABOUT TO BE! I got a hand for him though, we need to-" You stagger back and hold your head in your hands. There's a dozen choices you need to make and not much time to make them. You don't know how much of a lead you have on the guards and you don't know how much this lad's stunt cost you. You don't even know how much it gained you.
>>
>>4930508
You think of the situation. You stop thinking of the situation. You don't have time to think of the situation. You think of what's happening immediately.

>Everyone in the band needs to move, fast. You'll decide where when you've got some distance.
>Everyone in the band needs to relocate a ways away. Not too far, only enough, you aren't finished in Wakefield.
>Everyone in the band needs to go, back halfway to a trail to Falkirk and then wait. You need to take care of something very important, very urgent in Wakefield.
>Everyone in the band needs to move, into Wakefield, while the guards are still faffing about in the woods or handling the cripple. You need to strike while the iron's hot.

The man has a crossbow bolt in his chest. Fuck. You aren't remotely qualified for that.

>Leave it in and apply pressure to the wound, till you can find someone better. You don't want to lose another man.
>Rip it out and stick a rag for a bandage into his chest, it doesn't look good in there. If he lives he lives, if he dies he dies.
>Leave the man on the ground, he'll slow you down and shouldn't have made a smash and grab without your call.

The most important thing. The barrels. One is still full. The lads showed remarkable discipline and only drained the one.

>Take both barrels with you. To hell if one's empty, you could maybe get some use out of it. You think.
>Take the full barrel and leave the empty one, the beer inside's the only use you're planning on for either.
>Leave the full barrel and the empty barrel. This'll be bad for morale but they'll only slow you down and at least this way, someone might enjoy it.
>Smash both the barrels, nice and quick-like, let it all spill out on the ground. You can't be slowed by 'em but if you and the lads can't have 'em nobody can.

>Nameless Protagonist (NP):
>You're the Looter that happens to be in charge. You're a Greedy Idealist and have a shortsword. You spent all your silver then got it back, crippled a man and barely got away from the local guard. There's a bloody hand in your pocket. Maybe you should throw it away? Maybe you should keep it.

>The Lads: NP, 2 Armed Looters, 6 Looters, (2 Injured) 34 Food, (-9 Food per day) !?! Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound, 1 severe chest wound
>Morale: The lads are having mixed feelings. On one hand, they're piss-drunk from the barrel and one of the lads just a peddler's profits and most of his inventory in their laps. On the other hand, the boss is covered in blood, screaming, a lad is missing, and there's a crossbow bolt sticking out of the lad's chest. What the fuck.
>Infamy: The commonfolk are still reeling, it'll be a minute before they get together what happened.
>Belongings: 1 barrels of beer, (20/20)(0/20) 1 fat coinpouch you haven't counted, 1 peddler's bag you haven't searched

>Armed Looter:
>An ex dirt-farmer who got his hands on a nasty club or sharp iron blade. Zero combat skill. Zero morale.
>>
>>4930509
>>Everyone in the band needs to move, fast. You'll decide where when you've got some distance.

>>Leave it in and apply pressure to the wound, till you can find someone better. You don't want to lose another man.

>>Take the full barrel and leave the empty one, the beer inside's the only use you're planning on for either.
>>
>>4930509
>Everyone in the band needs to move, fast. You'll decide where when you've got some distance.
>Leave it in and apply pressure to the wound, till you can find someone better. You don't want to lose another man.
>Take the full barrel and leave the empty one, the beer inside's the only use you're planning on for either.

We need to find that peddlers next of kin later on.
>>
>>4930519
support, but i'd like to add

>leave that hand on the empty barrel
>>
>>4930509
>>Everyone in the band needs to relocate a ways away. Not too far, only enough, you aren't finished in Wakefield.
They will know to not to fuck with this band of looters
>>Leave it in and apply pressure to the wound, till you can find someone better. You don't want to lose another man.
>Smash both the barrels, nice and quick-like, let it all spill out on the ground. You can't be slowed by 'em but if you and the lads can't have 'em nobody can.
but I do support leaving the empty barrel with the hand inside. Also, please let the NP leader get a swig of the beer before they run away again
>>
>>4930680
Support the hand leaving
>>
>>4930519
>>4930555
>>4930680
>>4930755
It hurts but the lad who got caught is as good as lost. You have to look out for the rest of the band and sometimes that means hard decisions. You leave the empty barrel and start to get moving and stop. You get a sudden idea, one that’s worth a minute. While the lads are scrambling to get everything and move you’re fishing the cracked hammer out of the peddler’s bag and a nice, thick nail. You take the hand, nail it into the lid of the barrel, and set it in the most clear spot you can find on ten second’s notice. The cracked hammer broke so you toss it. It did everything you needed it too.

You catch up to the lads faster than you feel like is good. You get moving with them fast, waving your shortsword around and smacking the heads and kicking the arses of anyone who goes too slow or dares to try and sit down for a break. Lives are on the line and you’re already pushing it with the barrel. Speaking of which… You get underneath the barrel while they’re moving it and pour some of the spigot into your mouth and over your face for a second. The beer is warm and you don’t waste hardly a drop. None of the lads say you haven’t earned it but you don’t go any farther. You feel like you’re starting to get some distance. The lad with the crossbow bolt in his chest is laying back on the donkey and sleeping. You know he’s alive ‘cause every ten minutes or so he shifts and groans. You’re getting some time to think.
>>
>>4930838
Where should you go?

>Falkirk. It sounds like the elders might’ve sided with the local lord to save themselves from being beaten to death and hanged but they’re still your elders, and you can still teach them a lesson. You’ll need to walk for three days, five if you want to avoid the road Dalmerlington’s on.
>Murkwell. It’s isolated enough they haven’t heard what happened and probably won’t care. You’re looking at six days of hard marching to get there, and some backtracking. There’s likely a medical person who can look at your friend, ‘cause swamps have those right?
>Troutberk. It’s a place you’ve only ever heard about, some village of around thirty. You know it’s not on the main road, it’s on a path next to an inlet downstream of a lake. It would probably take anywhere from three to eight days to find the place.
>Sarton. It’s a proper, serious town that’s even bigger than Wakefield. The local lord keeps a garrison here but there are so many people your band could hide in, over two-hundred! You’re sure that’s an exaggeration but they’ve probably got a surgeon somewhere. A quick four day’s walk, six, if’n you want to stay off the roads.
>Dangarnon. It’s a village very similar to Falkirk, except it ain’t Falkirk which means it’s worse ‘cause you ain’t from there. About forty live there and with the poxes and taxes probably aren’t none too happy with the local lord. Easy three days but it’s rather out of the way.
>Innawoods. You’re just going to have to hope your friend can get better. You need to get as far away from the local lord and the local lord’s local guards as possible. You might even dare to go somewhere that… isn’t local.
>>
>>4930839
>Troutberk. It’s a place you’ve only ever heard about, some village of around thirty. You know it’s not on the main road, it’s on a path next to an inlet downstream of a lake. It would probably take anywhere from three to eight days to find the place.
>>
>>4930839
>>Murkwell. It’s isolated enough they haven’t heard what happened and probably won’t care. You’re looking at six days of hard marching to get there, and some backtracking. There’s likely a medical person who can look at your friend, ‘cause swamps have those right?

We need to lay low, we also need more food though. Are any of the lads at least able to forage? Can we work on getting the lads some wood spears as we go?
>>
Man, the story sucks for the looter band. I guess that's how the disposable low level enemies feel in most games. Any well fed and equipped person and deal with looters and here it shows why. I can't think of any good option, because it seems it's a different flavor of suck on every alternative... grimdark for you

>Murkwell
We indeed need the food and shelter. I don' know, maybe the better option is finding a hideout, like a cave but I don't want out lad to die
>>
>>4930977
Finding a cave or an old abandoned structure would be ideal. We've at least got a few blankets and tents right?
>>
I feel like we need to keep in mind that we're LOOTERS. We don't raid, we come by after someone else does that and take everything they left behind.

We're scavengers, we need to act like it.

Also
>>4930839
>Troutberk. It’s a place you’ve only ever heard about, some village of around thirty. You know it’s not on the main road, it’s on a path next to an inlet downstream of a lake. It would probably take anywhere from three to eight days to find the place.
>>
Rolled 6, 1 = 7 (2d6)

>>4930862
None of the lads are poachers or woodsmen but they can attempt to forage. Eating what they find could be dangerous though that's up to you to decide if it's worth the risk. You can make some wooden spears. The hatchet makes them much easier to craft.

>>4931020
You do have several stolen blankets. Counting the ones you took earlier there are 5 blankets and 4 thick blankets. They were bundled together in the peddler's bag. There are 2 small tents, 3 pots, 4 pans, 4 cutting knives, and 7 paring knives. The blankets and tents will make life easier. The dual 20s turned a complete catastrophe into a slight benefit but the low rolls led to some bad shit happening. There wasn't much of a chase from the 19 though. You'll hear of what happened to the lad you left behind the next time you try to listen for rumors.
>>
Rolled 4 + 2 (1d30 + 2)

>>4931035
The peddler had seven silver coins on him worth a staggering 21 Loot. He also had some copper coins. They aren't very useful if you don't have anywhere to spend them.
>>
>>4931041
He had six copper coins worth little over 1 Loot. He did have more but he gave most of them to you in change.
>>
>>4931035
Well even we could recognize an apple or a pear tree right? No sense eating strange berries or mushrooms though.

So camp life is going to be decent and at least everyone is gonna have a knife. I feel like maybe we should pocket a few, never know when we might kneed a blade or two up our sleeves.

Fashioning some shitty wooden spears should be a decent help in combat though.
>>
>>4931044
You can. It's early summer which will influence your foraging. You can get safe food without any foraging experience, it's only much more difficult. Recruiting someone who knows their way around the woods would be a godsend. The problem is finding one.
>>
>>4930519
Supporting
>>
>>4930839
>Murkwell. It’s isolated enough they haven’t heard what happened and probably won’t care. You’re looking at six days of hard marching to get there, and some backtracking. There’s likely a medical person who can look at your friend, ‘cause swamps have those right?
>>
Rolled 34 - 20 (1d100 - 20)

>>4930862
>>4930977
>>4931799
Murkwell is far and you don't have much food but it's your best hope to get away from the local lord's men short of heading into the woods and it's possibly your only hope to keep the crossbow-shot lad alive. You get the men together and tell them you're bound for Murkwell. There's some complaints that the swamps will be miserable and they'll starve on the way, possibly all true, but you know it's much less dangerous than Troutberk. Easier to find too. On the way, you'll keep an eye out for any chances to forage and do some whittling. You set off.

>Roll 1d100+20 for outrunning the local lord's men
>Roll 1d20-4 for living off the land
>Roll 1d20-2 for the chest wounded looter's recovery

>The Lads: NP, 2 Armed Looters, 6 Looters, (2 Injured) 34 Food, (-9 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound, 1 severe chest wound
>Morale: The lads are starting to realize the dangers of the outlaw's life. They've only been at it for three days and already lost two men and might lose a third, and now they're bound to a swamp on the chance they can bribe a doctor to look at a crossbow wound. At least now they've got tents and blankets.
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 15 - 2 (1d20 - 2)

>>4932024
alright! I want to roll the roll for the wounded looter
>>
Rolled 84 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4932024
>>
Rolled 8 - 4 (1d20 - 4)

>>4932024
Foraging roll
>>
Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>4932042
>>4932054
>>4932032
The men move fast, faster than you've ever seen them move. It doesn't even matter that they're hauling a barrel and goading a lame donkey forward, they shave an extra day off your journey to Murkwell and unless the local lord's local garrison has horses, you think you can be safe in saying you outrun the sons of bitches. You lost some food and couldn't find anymore though, but part of you thinks that was inevitable. The lad with the crossbow bolt in his chest seems to be taking it like a champ. His eyes are clear and he's awake most of the time. That's good. If he sleeps too much he'll die. You think. All-God, you could really use some skilled men in your band. Hell, you could use some skills for yourself! You don't even know how to use the damn shortsword on your belt.

Only four more days left to go. You're proud of your men but you don't tell them that, 'cause then they'd slack off. You know you would.

>Roll 1d20-4 for living off the land
>Roll 1d20-2 for the chest wounded looter's recovery

>The Lads: NP, 2 Armed Looters, 6 Looters, (2 Injured) 25 Food, (-9 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound, 1 severe chest wound
>Morale: The lads are starting to realize the dangers of the outlaw's life. They've only been at it for three days and already lost two men and might lose a third, and now they're bound to a swamp on the chance they can bribe a doctor to look at a crossbow wound. At least now they've got tents and blankets.
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 17 - 4 (1d20 - 4)

>>4932083
Foraging again.
>>
Rolled 2 - 2 (1d20 - 2)

>>4932083
>>
>>4932101
crap
>>
>>4932107
Well lets be honest here, he had a bolt in his chest
>>
>>4932101
o7
>>
Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>4932092
>>4932101
You keep traveling at a steady pace, everything's going well, and the lad's recovering well. Then he has the idea to remove the crossbow bolt and try to bandage the wound but it nicks something important on the way out and he bleeds what looks like a couple of gallons in a couple of minutes. The man's dead and there's nothing any of you could have done to save him. Fuck. In a way, he killed himself though. You're about tired of losing men to injuries. Maybe if you got them all gambeson like the local guards they'd do better. Problem is you don't know how to make those or where to get 'em aside from the local guard's corpses and those usually aren't in good shape afterward. You think a minute. Maybe if you bundled some rags and stitched them together to make some padded shirts? Isn't that just a shitty gambeson? Goddamn, there's blood everywhere.

You need to decide what to do with the body.

>Leave it, it'll rot quick-like or get eaten by the first creature to find.
>Burn it, the smoke might let the local lord know where you're at.
>Bury it, you still don't have any shovels, it'll be slow and miserable work.
>Eat it, one of the dafter lads suggested you could lessen the burden on your food stores. Everyone else is looking at him like he's a retard but if you wanted to... you are in charge.

On the upside, a couple of pointy sticks got whittled and a man remembered you can make a broth out of wood bark and water. You don't think there's any reason you couldn't use beer instead but it would need some fire. You're feeling good about the pointy sticks, you won't insult the ironsmith's craft by calling them spears but they could kill a man if you rammed 'em in the right spot. Maybe even get through gambeson if the one wearing it stands still long enough. You have three more days to reach Murkwell. If you don't find food, you and the lads can go a day without. It's not like you're not used to it, still bad for morale. You would rather not go hungry either. Now that you think of it... You don't have any injured lads needing it anymore and that lame donkey does have some meat on its bones... Might be worth thinking about Just a thought.

>Roll 1d100 for if anything happens
>Roll 1d20-4 for living off the land

>The Lads: NP, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 16 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: Fuck. The lad's dead. He's really fucking dead. He got blood everywhere too.
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans

>Lightly Armed Looter: An ex dirt-farmer who got his hands on a carved club or a sharp stick. Zero combat skill. Zero morale.
>>
Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>4932264
>>Leave it, it'll rot quick-like or get eaten by the first creature to find.

We need to keep moving
>>
Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>4932264
>>Burn it, the smoke might let the local lord know where you're at.
We did it for one, we'll do it again.

We'll also be able to use the remains of the fire for the broth that one guy mentioned.
>>
>>4932299
>>4932301

Looks like our luck is on the mend at least
>>
Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>4932264
>Burn it, the smoke might let the local lord know where you're at.
>>
>>4932264
>Burn it, the smoke might let the local lord know where you're at.
It is kind of like a tradition for this band of lads

also fuck captchas
>>
>>4932264
>>4932299
>>4932301
You tell the men to burn it, just like the last. There ain't no difference, you did it before and you'll do it again, local lord be damned. It isn't any easier than last time either but you do it anyway. The men seem to have somber looks on their faces. This isn't the first time they've watched a friend burn and if they're lucky, this won't be the last. Fortunately for you, the smoke blends in with the black clouds overhead and doesn't give away your position! Unfortunately, the black clouds overhead start to rain the minute you're down and then you're stuck trudging in the mud. Fuck. There's mud everywhere these days.

You try to think back if there ain't a time there wasn't mud everywhere. You realize you can't, unless there was snow up to your knees or a drought going on. Fuck. That means mud's a good thing isn't it? You guess it is. You've got a smile on your face but you can't tell your men why or they'll think you're crazy. Ten minutes after you have your epiphany, you hear the twang of a bowstring and an arrow flies into the tree next to your head, and then falls off onto the ground instead of burying itself 'cause it's solid damn oak, not butter. You look to where the arrow came from and draw your shortsword while the lads gently set down the barrel and whip out their weapons. You see a man hunched in the bushes up ahead with a quiver of arrows on his back and a shortbow in his hand.

"Oi! Ye lads are outlaws ain't ye?" You glare at the man. He's baldheaded but his head ain't shiny 'cause the sun ain't out. You scowl. "Who's askin'?" The bowman grits his teeth and spits. "Outlaws. We're with the Greybloods, over Murkwood n' two more villages besides. These woods are our turf n' we don't want no competition. Yer outlaws... I can tell." You look to your lads and you all realize at the same time you never decided on a name for your band. You look at the bowman and into the thicket. You think you can see two more men, one with a woodcutting axe and one with a staff, and they're both trying to stay hidden but not doing a good job of it, what 'cause their heads are poking up over the bushes. You look back at the bowman and think. Between the eight of you, you could probably take these three but if what they say is true and they're part of a larger gang, it could be a bad idea to get on their bad side. But then they did threaten you, but then again, they didn't immediately shoot at you. The lads look at each other and back at you. They're thinking the same thing. The bowman looks nervous but he's doing a good job hiding it and he still does have an arrow nocked.
>>
>>4932469
No reason not to be upfront, this man doesn't seem to like the local lord anymore than you do. You puff up your chest. "Aye. That we is." The bowman wipes sweat and rain from his brow. "I know a band of outlaws when I see one. Yer the leader, ain't ye?" You look back. "How could ye tell?" He jerks his head to your hand. "Yer the only one with a sword n' they keep lookin' at ye like ye is." You look at the blade and nod your head up and down. You do look rather leaderly, after all. "Listen now, we don't want no trouble but ye keep walkin'... Ye'll get some."

You look at the lads and come to a shared subconscious decision.

>Pick a name for the band. You could change it later but that's some weak shit.

You look back at the bowman and figure how you're going to handle this.

>Nice and simple. When you give the word you'll charge, beat 'em to death, rummage through their things and keep going.
>It's shameful, but the safe thing to do cuck out and turn back. Maybe you could get back to Falkirk before you get too hungry.
>Why fight? You're on the same side and you'll tell the man that, size him up and ask to see if maybe you couldn't talk to his boss.
>You're hesitant to make such a daring gamble but you'll play your trump card, and ask if you can't settle this over some of your beer.
>The way he snuck up on you gave you an idea. Why don't you just leave and then sneak back into Murkwell a different direction?

Something also occurs to you. It's been five days, you've seen two men die, lost a man, robbed a tax collector and severed a local guard's hand. That and you have your own personality, with your Greed and Idealism and whatnot. You're no longer indistinguishable from the other looters. You've achieved something only a few of your like manage to. Narrative significance. It's a heavy feeling. Brings a right proper tear to your eye.

>Pick a Name for the Nameless Protagonist
>Pick a bonus, Tough, Quick, Wily, or Sharp
>>
>>4932473
>Band name: The Crows ?
>Why fight? You're on the same side and you'll tell the man that, size him up and ask to see if maybe you couldn't talk to his boss.
>Character Name: Henry.
>Sharp
>>
>>4932496
support, i dunno about the band name but everything else is good
>>
>>4932473
>>Nice and simple. When you give the word you'll charge, beat 'em to death, rummage through their things and keep going.
WE LOOT.
>WE ARE LOOTERS nothing more.
Oh shit, we can get names and stuff? More than a paragraph worth on a novel? We get our own whole page now!!

>I am Marauder Henry and this is my band
>Tough. We've been living our short life suffering through shit and this is no different, besides having the free will to decide how to resist it!
>>
>>4932552
or maybe Muddied Henry. Or naming the band Mud Looters. Because mud is a good thing
>>
>>4932496
Support, with an addition, we share our barrel of beer with these lads as a peace offering.

We outlaws need to stick together, we might can work at a loose confederation with them.
>>
>>4932496
>>4932506
You could call yourselves the Muddy Crows, Carrion Crows, Burning Crows, Drunken Crows.. there's a lot of possible adjectives to add onto Crows. Just calling yourselves The Crows is really fucking ballsy though.

>>4932556
Adding a title onto your name is damned bold but if it's self-deprecating or you can back it up it goes over much better. Lots of outlaws started out calling themselves by a title nobody took seriously and got it acknowledged by doing some serious outlawry later.
>>
>>4932473
Harry the butcher
Sharp
The Silver Lads
>>
>>4932496
support, Band name included
>>
>>4932496
+1

Henry Stickman
>>
>>4932496
>>4932506
>>4932583
>>4933051
>>4933315
Your name is Henry, like someone from a much less grimdark setting who was decidedly not an outlaw, and you're proud to say that you're damned sharp. While you haven't had a minute of formal training in your life, you possess a rare and dangerous talent for violence and that counts for a lot in your profession. The shortsword moves quick and easy in your hand, like you've already held it for months but you haven't even seen what training and practice can do.

>Henry is Sharp: +2 to Combat rolls, this stacks with future improvements

You stop walking, look back at the bowman from your men, and speak. "Me name's Henry n' we's called The Crows, what 'cause we pick corpses clean." You gauge his reaction for a second, he seems to be staring at you and the couple of your lads with blades, and you continue. "Look, we might not be in the same band but we outlaws is all on the same side. The local lord's men-at-arms... in full harness... are numerous n' too dangerous for any man to take on alone. We outlaws ought to stick together. I ain't got violent intentions if ye ain't, but I'd like to speak to yer boss, if'n ye could arrange a talk or somethin' like that." The bowman stares at you for a minute.

>Roll 1d20+2 for diplomacy

>Henry, Leader of The Crows:
>You're the Looter that happens to be in charge. You're a Greedy Idealist and Sharp, with a rare and dangerous talent for violence. You're armed with a shortsword. Over the last week, you robbed a tax collector for his silver, spent all your silver then got it back, crippled a man and barely got away from the local guard. Then you nailed his hand to a barrel and set off for the swamps. You also saw two of your lads die when you couldn't save them and left one behind when he couldn't run fast enough. You worry that you might get used to death.

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 8 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: Fuck, there's another band of outlaws? Fuck, our band has an actual name now?
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 17 + 2 (1d20 + 2)

>>4933426
>>
Rolled 18 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

>>4933476
It looks like he's mulling it over for a minute, then he nods his head. "Ye know what? I think I could. Yer right, damn right. The local lord's a danger to us all. A right menace his men-at-arms in full harness are." He steps out of the bushes, loosens the arrow and slides it back into its quiver. There's a faint suspicion on his face but for the most part he looks relieved. He turns back to where the other two were doing a terrible job of hiding and shouts. "C'mon out lads! Looks like it ain't gonna be another ambush." The bowman turns back to you and holds out his hand. You sheath your shortsword and shake it. The other two men leave their hiding places and your own men get at ease. In a couple of minutes they're mingling and talking like they've known each other for years. It seems most outlaws have some things in common. There's some nudging to the barrel but a glance from you shuts it right up. They get the message. Not yet.

You realize you're still shaking the man's hand and he's still shaking yours. You both let go and the man makes a wet and noisy cough into his elbow. Then he does it again and you think you hear some wheezing. That's normal for peasants though and you think nothing of it. You listen closely. "Now, about that meeting of yers... I think I could. I damn well think I could. Not the first time we done somethin' like this but it might be the first time we done it right. I got a good feelin' about ye. Somethin' I can't quite place. Yeah... Rodderick'll want to see ye." He looks over his shoulders into the woods, like he's checking for something, and talks again. "I's not any kind of captain or anythin'. I'm just on patrol n' the only one of us three that knows how to use a bow but we ain't too formal-like. I can get ye setup. Just c'mon with us n' we'll show ye around." You start to grin and move to adjust your belt like noblemen do when they're trying to look serious but then remember you don't own a belt or have any belt loops in your pants. You settle for grinning.
>>
>>4933565
The Crows follow these Greybloods straight to Murkwell for the rest of the way there, and after a day more's travel stop around fifteen minutes out of village. The bowman talks to you again. "Now, I'm goin' to tell it to ye straight 'cause we been gettin' along well enough so far. Murkwell is... well these swamp locals ain't too hospitable, let's leave it at that. Yeah, we Greyblood's technically welcome here but we's also technically not from here n' we's also technically been takin' tithes to, uh... "keep 'em safe" from outlaws n' the like, except we's mostly the only outlaws here so it's sort of a... ye know, yeah?" You think for a minute. Huh. That's kind of clever, and underhanded too. "Yeah, I think I know what ye's sayin'." The bowman nods. "Yeah. Yeah, it's one of those kinds of things. Except recently we's been havin' problems with somethin' bad in the woods, so they ain't payin' us for nothin'. So, just thought I'd let ye know. If'n ye want to head into Murkwell, be their guest, but all the same. Might could also come back with us n' check out our camp but we ain't got the boss's permission yet, n' I don't think he'd have a problem with it but... ye know how it is."

You nod your head. You do know how it is. He fidgets with the tip of his bow for a minute and sighs. "Of course, ye could always camp out in the swamp but I ain't too sure if I would, if I was ye. Probably nothin'd happen but somethin' bad might happen, ye know. Ain't at liberty to say much more but I like ye Henry n' I's already stickin' my neck out a little, so I just thought I'd let ye know. Alright then. I got to go get Rodderick. Could be four, five days maybe. Might be less, dependin'. Best of luck if I don't see ye between now n' then!" The Greybloods break off from the group and start going into a random direction of the swamp that looks the same as most any other part of the swamp. At least to you and your lads, that is.

There's a few different places you could be camping and like he said, it might be a few days.

>You'll try your luck with Murkwell. Maybe they're a bit on edge and not too fond of outlaws, but you're sure it'll be fine and if it's not, silver coins and warm beer have a way of smoothing things over. Besides, you were a peasant too a week ago, right?
>You'll go ahead and follow the Greybloods. That camp of theirs might be aggressive but if the patrol vouches for you it probably wouldn't come to blows, and that boss of theirs might appreciate not having to walk a bit more than a slight breach of protocol.
>You'll find a nice, relatively dry clearing out in the swamps and pitch a camp. You might, no, would definitely have to butcher the lame donkey to avoid starving and there's a risk of something bad, so he says, but nothing bad happened on the way here did they?
>>
>>4933567
>>You'll go ahead and follow the Greybloods. That camp of theirs might be aggressive but if the patrol vouches for you it probably wouldn't come to blows, and that boss of theirs might appreciate not having to walk a bit more than a slight breach of protocol.

I reckon now we can make mention of sharing the beer with the greybloods when we get there, as a peace offering of sorts. Maybe we can volunteer to join forces to sort out whats in the woods? Earn our hospitality, and some food for our bellies.
>>
>>4933579
Supporting
>>
>>4933579
+1
>>
>>4933579
beer works very well, doesn't it?
>>
>>4933579
>>4934003
>>4934121
>>4934234
You cup your hand around your mouth like you heard heralds do for dramatic effect and shout "Hold on mate, we'll be comin' with ye!" The bowman stops in his tracks and turns around. "Ye sure? I ain't gonna stop ye but it might be dangerous..." You wave your hand all fancy-like. "Oh no, no, it'll all be fiiine. Just ye watch n' see." Your fellow outlaw raises an eyebrow and then drops his jaw at what you say next. "Besides, don't want all this right proper BEER going to waste when we could be drinkin' it with ye lads!" Everyone gets all smiley and he fidgets with his bow some more and snorts. "Harharharhar. Thought ye had the barrel for somethin'. Thought it was full of grog meself! Now beer... beer'll go over well. Just wait a minute. Ye said ye was low on food. Mind if we borrow yer donkey?"

You look at the lame donkey and shrug. "Depends. What ye need it fer?" The man laughs. "No! No, we don't need it, ye need it! The folks in Murkwell recognize me. They won't do a thing if I take the nag there to get some of their extry bread. They ain't got much extry ye know but they got enough to feed ye lads 'till yer at camp." You think over it for a minute and nod. "Sure. Ye can borrow our donkey but..." It occurs to you that he intends to take a surprise tithe of enough to feed eight men for five days from a village of only a few dozen that's already getting tithed. You might not care for yourself, but these people were like you were back in Falkirk and like the people in Falkirk you left behind. You maybe could do something.

>"Nevermind, had a stray thought. Harharhar, ye go right ahead! We'll be waitin' here for ye."
>"Lemme come with ye, I ain't no Greyblood n' I can't take no tithe but I gots some silver to pay."
>"Think I could head in there with ye? Nothin', just... take a look-see the villagers n' how ye do things?"
>>
>>4934293
>>"Think I could head in there with ye? Nothin', just... take a look-see the villagers n' how ye do things?"
I want to go there to avoid him taking our donkey somewhere funny, you know? protect the donkey
>>
>>4934293
>>"Think I could head in there with ye? Nothin', just... take a look-see the villagers n' how ye do things?"

A lil learning experience, I'd ratger they didn't know just how much money we have. Things are goin good, but men can sure get greedy can't they?

Perhaps we can propose that he mentions the tithe is for extra men to hunt the danger in the woods with?
>>
>>4934293
>"Think I could head in there with ye? Nothin', just... take a look-see the villagers n' how ye do things?"
I like scouting.

We should feel no empathy for these peasants.

Unlike ourselves, they’ve allowed themselves to be dominated by others. We’re our own master now.
>>
>>4934313
>>4934386
>>4934446
"Think I could head in there with ye? Nothin', just... take a look-see at the villagers n' how ye do things?" The bowman ponders for a moment and nods. "Yeah, 's only fair, what with yer donkey n' us gettin' ye some bread. Might as well take a couple lads too, take a burden off the donkey n' them sacks." Seems reasonable to you, so you and a couple of sturdier looters file in behind the Greybloods and the bunch of you head into Murkwell. You aren't sure what you were expecting from the village but it's not too similar to Falkirk. All of the houses are built of logs yeah but they're rotting in and patched where the swamp's decay begun to set in. You can recognize the reasons for the structures though. Mostly houses, place isn't big enough for a proper shrine to the All-God, but you spot a couple of longer buildings on the higher, dryer ground, and it's to these you go to. The Murkwellers look at you and at the other outlaws with a familiar disdain. They're in a wretched state, some skinny enough they're almost more skeleton than man, riddled with fleas and festering sores, many missing teeth and fingers, their hands making obscene gestures or desperate signs of prayer, their faces leering with hate or cowering in terror.

Yep, just like Falkirk. There's only a few dozen of them though. Maybe twenty men, half that that ain't either too old or too young to fight well. It ain't a question of whether they can fight, 'cause everyone fights, but it's something you've got to keep an eye on running a looter band and all. You catch a couple of glances with your shortsword in particular, and the way you carry yourself, and then you and the bowman walk up in front of the loose crowd and stand there. The donkey's behind you, braying slightly, and an old, ancient methuselah of a man stooped with arthritis and hobbling on a cane steps out of the village. It almost shocks you to see how old he is, forty-five, fifty even! You hear him rasp. "Go on then, ye bastards. What have ye come to take from us this time? Women? Chickens? Ye know damn well we's out of silver!" The bowman next to you chuckles and spits on the ground. "Heheheh. We's come to get some food, the finest right proper bread ye've got, 'cause that's what we deserve, us Greybloods, for givin' ye only the finest protection in these lands." The old man scowls and rattles his stick.
>>
Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>4934503
"Ye rat bastard! Ye know we ain't got much! Not much of anythin'!" You glance while your new friend, you think, continues. "Then we's keep it simple, n' ye'll give us the best of what ye got." The elder grimaces. "Listen here, ye-" "Or I'll jus' go n' tell Rodderick ye ain't payin' yer tithes n' we'll jus' leave Murkwell to its own, ah, devices." Now the elder recoils in horror and scrambles. "NO! NO! Ye don't got to-" "Now YOU! Listen HERE! Old man, ye know damned well the local lord n' his men-at-arms-" a nearby Murkweller, a child with one eye, cries out. "In full harness!" and he continues, "don't care to come into these swamps ever since the infestation started, n' ye know damn well we've lost good men tryin' to keep it down. Some of 'em used to be yers, n' we could just as easy leave ye alone n'-" The old man goes to his knees in the mud, begging and pleading. "NO! Please! I beg of ye! Alright, alright! We'll get ye yer food, but we can't do much more of this." He lays there, defeated, while the bowman smirks and laughs. "Harharhar! Good! Good, ye can't go forgettin' yer protectors, now can ye?" The Murkwellers look at the old man, who reaches for the cane he dropped and stops, when he sees the outlaw's foot on it, and your inner sentimentality's about to flame up when he reaches down and helps him onto his feet. He claps him on the back as he cringes, and hands him back his stick. "Ye can't, n' ye know that. Look, I don't like it no more than ye do but that's just the way it is."

The old man sighs. "How much do ye n' the new lieutenant need?" You both nearly do a double-take. "Lieutenant? I ain't no lieutenant!" You see the cataracts in the elder's eyes. They're all grey and mystical seeming-like. "Then why do ye have a sword on yer belt n' those two men lookin' at ye like that?" The bowman looks to you to explain yourself, almost curious.

>You explain that you're a friend of his, and going to meet Rodderick.
>You explain that you aren't a lieutenant yet, but you might be later, maybe.
>You explain that's none of his business and he ought to not ask stupid questions.
>You explain that you're the leader of a new looter band that just strolled into town.
>>
>>4934507
The answer seems to satisfy him, and the outlaw looks at you with a bit of interest. Maybe that's some amusement or even surprise on his face. You can't be sure, what with how he's trying to keep a flat expression for the villagers. The outlaw claps him on the back again. "Now that Henry here's told ye all ye don't need to know, 'cause it's on a need-to-know basis, ye know, we's be needin' two grain-sacks of yer bread. The FINE bread, the stuff with the maggots, not the rot n' mold." Damn, that's the sort of stuff Falkirk used to save for festivals and the like. The tax collector's bread though... That was almost fluffy and soft-to-touch and mostly fresh. That was some of the finest bread you and your lads ever ate, and damned sure the finest beer you've ever drank. You think to yourself. Maybe one day, you can make it so that everyone can have bread like the tax collector's and beer to drink just like what was in his basement. Maybe if you can't do that, hell, if you shouldn't do that, maybe you can just look out for the lads. The Crows. They're yours and you're at the head of their flight. Noone else in this world matters. You remember what a group of crows is called all of a sudden.

A Murder, that is. You think that's what it is. Goddamn, that's some heavy shit to take in. You're lost in thought while the villagers and your lads and the couple of Greybloods that were with the bowman load up the donkey and then you set out. Now you're walking and left to think about what you've seen and heard. You know a little more about how the Greybloods work but you haven't seen this Rodderick of theirs yet. You hope that meeting goes well, and that you don't run into that "infestation" everyone's staying awfully closed-lipped about. Between keeping your men off the barrel of beer, that is.

>Roll 1d100+40 for avoiding anything bad happening

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 40 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Beasts: 1 lame donkey, carrying 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (20/20)(20/20)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Food: 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (20/20)(20/20)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: Hey, these other outlaws seem to be some right proper lads!
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 86 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4934507
>>You explain that you're a friend of his, and going to meet Rodderick.
>>
>>4934508
>You explain that you're a friend of his, and going to meet Rodderick.
This is not lying, desu
>>
File: sides.jpg (27 KB, 474x352)
27 KB
27 KB .jpg
Kek, thanks OP, now I can't play Total Warhammer without seeing Men-at-Arms (in full harness.
>>
>>4934507
>You explain that's none of his business and he ought to not ask stupid questions.
>>
>>4934541
I've been enjoying it myself. As well historically accurate x
>>
Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>4934515
>>4934533
Earlier, you explained that you were a friend of the bowman's going to meet Rodderick, completely honest, if not too embellished for your benefit. The Greybloods set off into the swamps and you follow, grateful that the lame donkey is able to take a load off of your backs. You notice the bowman, their patrol leader, is very wary and keeps looking at the gaps between the trees and up above, at the twisting branches. A couple of times, he has the group stop and turn around, then come back in a different direction. He doesn't specify what he's worried about and you don't ask, 'cause you don't know if you want to find out and if that meeting goes well you'll know soon enough anyhow.

You keep walking, eat some bread, and only have to threaten a lad once to keep him away from the tap of the barrel. It's pretty clear they're getting antsy. One of the looters takes you to the side and asks when you're going to let them kill some shit 'cause that's what he signed up for and you tell him it'll be soon but you actually don't know and he knows you don't know either but neither of you say anything about it 'cause you know right now you can't do anything about it. Goddamn, being boss is complicated. At least now you ain't worrying about food and haven't run into... whatever it is you need not to run into. The patrol leader says it'll be another four, maybe five days. You wonder if you should be keeping track of the times.

>Roll 1d100+40 for avoiding anything bad happening

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 40 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Beasts: 1 lame donkey, carrying 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (20/20)(20/20)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Food: 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (12/20)(20/20)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: Hey, these other outlaws seem to be some right proper lads!
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 86 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4935326
>>
Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4935326
>>4935392
You keep walking. You keep eating bread. Nothing much happens. You think it's a bit strange in fact how similar today was to yesterday but you aren't too surprised. You've heard swamps were strange in lots of ways. The bowman still hasn't mentioned a word of what he's worried about but swears up and down he recognizes a rotting stump and says it won't be more than three days now. Three days until you see the camp, but he ask him what he meant by saying it would take him five days to get you to meet Rodderick when you were camped out even though it's taking you five days to travel now when that doesn't seem possible without horses and he says he wasn't expecting you to want to stay back in Murkwell instead of traveling with him but now that you did there's nothing wrong there. You're a little confused but he insists it all makes sense when you think about it. You think.

>Roll 1d100+40 for avoiding anything bad happening

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 40 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Beasts: 1 lame donkey, carrying 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (12/20)(20/20)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Food: 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (12/20)(20/20)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: Hey, these other outlaws seem to be some right proper lads!
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
>>4935538
dice+1d100+40
>>
Rolled 42 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4935624
oops
>>
>>4935538

Been lurking since the start, this quest is awesome and I hope it continues.

I think more quests could use comedy like I'm seeing here.
>>
File: Spoiler Image (326 KB, 728x546)
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326 KB .jpg
>>4934541
>>4934608
>>4935852
Such hubris...

>>4935538
>>4935646
You keep walking. You keep eating bread. You try gallivanting for a change of pace but when a few of your men look at you like you're a ponce you quit it. You keep walking. Nothing much happens. You're starting to think it'll just stay the same all the damn way to reach the Greyblood's camp but then the bowman turns around a tree and goes stock-still like the tax collector when he realized you and the lads didn't intend to kill his wife. He looks up ahead, fumbles for a knife, and stumbles back. You go to ask him what's going on and he grabs you by the shoulder and hisses in your ear. "Quiet! Else they'll hear ye, if they's close. Might be too late. Might be in for a fight. All-God..." You furrow your brows like you're angry for dramatic effect even though you's mostly just confused and whisper. "What's all this ye've been goin' on about? Infestation this... Infestation that... What the hell's infestin' the swamp!?" He grabs you by the other shoulder and turns you around to look at the trees. "See for yerself."

>spoiler

You gawk at what you're looking at for a minute and then rip your shortsword out and hold onto it with a deathgrip. "That's a... a fuckin' spider web." The bowman nods. "Aye. It's a fuckin' spider web." You blink and step back, still whispering. "That means... that means they're fuckin' spiders big enough to make the fuckin' spider web." The outlaw whispers, "Aye. That's right. That's what's been eatin' our lads... snatchin' townies... They's nasty, n' the local lord don't believe they's real. Says they's nonsense the peasants is tellin' him to keep from gettin' punished for folks disappearing. So I's heard." You have a sudden realization. "That's why they was eight damned guards in Wakefield n' why they wasn't patrollin' the damn ruins where we was at! They wasn't tryin' to guard the townies, they was tryin' to keep the 'em from runnin' away!"
>>
>>4935886
The outlaw nods his head, all somber-like. "I ain't never been to Wakefield but that's exactly right, but they's real. They's too damned real to be real." Your hand shakes for a second. "All-God." The fear in you is real.

You've been whispering to each other for about a minute now and the men behind you is starting to wonder... "A web that size, that slippery means they's near, too. Means they might be watchin' us... Might be gettin' ready to pounce. Listen, yer in charge of about most all of the lads here n' I don't know how to handle 'em better than ye can, besides to burn 'em out or run. It's... It's yer call. What ye say we do?"

>Run the fuck away as fast as your legs can carry you! Fuck shit fuck, it ain't worth it and you can't rob your own grave!
>Get the lads together and get some kindling, you're about to start a bonfire. Might get a nest angry, might scare 'em off.
>You're going to get your sword and you're going to have the lads use their billhook and axe to try and cut their way through.
>Go on and take the fight to them, have the lads spread out and go off into the swamp alone so you can cover more ground.
>Ain't no damned reason to be messing with this, no way no how. You're going to turn around and add another day to your trip.
>>
>>4935887
>Ain't no damned reason to be messing with this, no way no how. You're going to turn around and add another day to your trip.

No bloody way
>>
>>4935887
>Ain't no damned reason to be messing with this, no way no how. You're going to turn around and add another day to your trip.
>>
>>4935887
>>Get the lads together and get some kindling, you're about to start a bonfire. Might get a nest angry, might scare 'em off.

Keep eyes in the trees
>>
>>4935887
>>Get the lads together and get some kindling, you're about to start a bonfire. Might get a nest angry, might scare 'em off.
We are gonna burn some spiders today.
>>
>>4935895
>>4935926
>>4935950
>>4936294
You look at the spiderweb and you look back to the lads. Your every instinct is telling you to pick up your feet and RUN and your every other instinct is telling you to get some torches and BURN. You look at the silk for a minute and come to a decision.

>Roll 1d2 for tiebreaker

If it's a 1 you RUN, if it's a 2 you BURN
>>
Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>4936510
>>
>>4935887
>Get the lads together and get some kindling, you're about to start a bonfire. Might get a nest angry, might scare 'em off.
Burn burn them all
>>
Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>4935950
>>4936294
>>4936522
>>4936520
You take a copper coin out of your pouch, 'cause you'll be damned if you risk dropping silver into the swamps, and flip it end over end to land on your wrist. You squint at it. Damn. That's a head, which means you got to run, but here you were wanting to burn 'em out and knowing that felt like a bad idea so you just thought you'd flip a coin and leave it out of your hands, all clever-like, but now it went and landed on the opposite of what you was wanting to do, even if it was the smart thing to do. You curse inside. Goddamn. You really wanted to set some spiders on fire.

The outlaw looks at you and mutters. "Did ye just flip a fuckin' coin!?" You turn and snap back. "No! I-I mean... yes, but it don't matter! Forget it." You lick your lips and swing your sword for dramatic effect. "We's gonna burn these fuckers out! C'mon lads! Take a look at that!" You point the sword-tip at the horrible web and the rest of the band files around and stops dead in their tracks. They all stare at it for a minute, process that they're actually looking at what they're looking at when one idiot goes up to poke it and gets his stick stuck in the mess, and have about the same reaction you did. They're gripping their weapons with white-knuckles, some shaking in terror, and a few are grinning like they're either not all there in the head or glad to see that the world's not so small or both, and one lad falls onto his knees and vomits his lunch out onto the ground. You give 'em a second to get over themselves, and then give the order. "Go on then! Ye heard me, go get some fuckin' tinder! We're about to burn these bastards right out of the swamps!"

The looters look at you, then they look back to the lads, and then they spread out to get some wood.

>Roll 1d100+20 for... reasons
>Roll 5d20 for getting some wood
>>
Rolled 54 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4936608
>>
Rolled 15, 4, 1, 3, 20 = 43 (5d20)

>>4936608
We need to make torches, everyone knows spiders is weak against fire lads
>>
oh baby, the fire!
>>
>>4936608
>>4936624
>>4936690
The patrol leader looks at you like you're mad but lots of outlaws who dare to oppose the local lord are and he thinks nothing of it. Either that or he doesn't say nothing for fear of getting run through by the shortsword in your hands. Makes the same difference in the end when you think, really. The lads go into digging and rooting for dry, burnable wood in the damp, humid swamp and some get a little further than the others. You take the same two lads that went into Murkwell with you and immediately find a nice stack of old branches on a little island in a puddle. That and some leaves ought to make for good kindling so you head back and see everyone else had a worse time of it. The first group that went off with two more lads and one of the Greybloods came back emptyhanded, same as the third that was just two of yours, but the fourth, of the bowman and a dim, scared man who didn't realize you weren't trying to get into the tax collector's house to pay your taxes early until you broke down the door and dug out his silver and by then he was in too deep, says they didn't find any usable wood. Nope.

Just a nice, deep pool of black sludge the bowman recognized as black tar. You're confused for a second and then he explains that tar is very flammable, burns real nice and easy-like, and then you're grinning just like he is. Between your find and his, you have enough to make a big, hot fire without any difficulty, even with how wet the swamps is. You're absolutely ecstatic and then you do a headcount and realize the second group that went out, the other Greyblood and one of yours, is missing. Fuck. You get worried for a minute and then your man comes running out of the bushes. Your grin comes back and you notice he doesn't have any firewood and you frown. He puts his knees and starts panting. "The lad... the Greyblood... he's, he's..." You put your hand on his shoulder and shake him a little. "He's what? He's what!? Spit it out!" The looter groans with worry. "He's stuck boss. We thought we saw a nice patch and then he went around a tree and got his whole body snagged in a web what was between it n' some vines. It's bad... it's bad... it's bad...-"
>>
>>4936989
You smack him in the face. "I know it's bad, damn ye, but how bad is it?" The smack knocks him out of his stammering. "It's not good. It's not good. I tried to cut him out with my knife but then it got stuck up in the webs 'cause they was sticky n' too tough for me to cut through! Like that gambeson from the local guard b-but worse somehow." You scowl. "Damn. Ye lost yer knife?" The bowman who's overheard everything cuts in. "What about the man? Is he dead yet? Did ye kill him 'fore they could get ahold of him!? " Your lad starts panicking. "No! No I didn't do that, no. Lost his stick, the big long 'n, in the webs too n' I jus' didn't know what to do so I came back." You look at the bowman and he knows what you want to know straight away. "... Between the axe, that billhook, n' yer sword if ye want to pitch in... It'll be an hour, longer 'fore we could get him out. Risky... Damn risky... They can feel when the webs is shakin'. I liked the man, I liked him a lot, but I think he might be a dead n' breathin'. Unless ye want to risk us all n' delay any kind of fire for... however long it takes."

The lads are looking to you to make another hard decision.

>To hell with the risks, you'll cut the poor man out, even if you have to do it by your own damned self!
>This is bad but... he's not your lad. You'll try to cut him out but if there's any danger, you'll end him rightly.
>Your fellow outlaw's right, best to put him out of his misery and then light up his corpse so they don't get it.
>He's not your responsibility, the bowman can get him on his own, and he won't risk any of your men for his.
>Easy! You'll start the fire and have it going as a distraction so that you can cut him out without any spiders!
>>
>>4936990
>>Easy! You'll start the fire and have it going as a distraction so that you can cut him out without any spiders!
>>
>>4936990
>>Easy! You'll start the fire and have it going as a distraction so that you can cut him out without any spiders!
we don't owe anything to the greybloods to worry about the lad. His own fault too, that he got sticky. How come no one else got sticky but him eh?
>>
>>4936990
>>Easy! You'll start the fire and have it going as a distraction so that you can cut him out without any spiders!
>>
>>4936990
>Easy! You'll start the fire and have it going as a distraction so that you can cut him out without any spiders!
seams reasonable
>>
Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>4937010
>>4937132
>>4937345
>>4937709
These spiders are dangerous, got to be with the size they is. You don't dare go off and start cutting the man loose all reckless-like, but the same time you don't want to just leave him there when you might could maybe rescue him. That could just as easy have been your lad, after all, and leaving him there might not go over well with that Rodderick. No, you best rescue him but you don't want to waste all this wood and black tar junk, so you'll do both! Try and set the webs of fire so that way they's burning and then cut the lad out before the fire reaches him! It'll be easy as making mud pies.

You turn and talk to the lads, the eight Crows and two Greybloods that are here. "Alright, listen close 'cause here's the plan. We gonna set the webs on fire anyways, that way the spiders is distracted n' we can cut him out nice n' quick." A man speaks up. "What if the spiders get angry n' try to eat us?" You shake your head. "That's what the fire's for!" Another man interjects. "What if the fire spreads n' burns the man alive?" You shake your head at their ignorance to your vision. "That's why we cut him out quick!" Some of the men seem unconvinced but most are enthusiastic for the opportunity to burn something and they file in with rest when you start rushing to dip branches into the tar pit.

Damn, you're a brilliant leader. There's no way this plan could go wrong.

>Roll 1d100 for... reasons
>Roll 1d20+4 for starting a destructive fire
>Roll 1d20+4 for cutting the lad out real fast-like
>>
Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4938107
>>
Rolled 7 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

>>4938107
rolling to start the fire
>>
>>4938107
Would you like one of us to roll the 2nd d20?
>>
Rolled 9 + 4 (1d20 + 4)

>>4938107
>>
Rolled 88 - 40 (1d100 - 40)

>>4938107
>>4938133
>>4938141
>>4938185
You gather the branches, dip 'em in the black tar 'till they're all nice and then you stick 'em right to the bottom of the web you spotted earlier. There's more webs, lots of 'em deeper in the swamp but you figure you'll start with the first. It takes about ten minutes since you ain't got a flint but you get a nice spark and it goes straight onto the black tar... and it starts smoking. Damn, was raining earlier and it's too damp to catch quickly. You keep messing with the branch a minute, trying to get a blaze going, and you remember the man that got snagged in the webs. Goddamn, and there's already a fire going at the base! Goddamn, it's spreading fast now. All-God, the tree it's attached to is catching fire! Goddamn, you can feel the heat and you gots to run! You gots to run fast!

You and a few of the others run away from the now roaring fire and you shake the lad of yours that last saw the man by the shoulder. "LAD! WHERE THE HELL DID THE GREYBLOOD GET STUCK!?" He mutters. "Uh... Uh... Uh.... b-b-back in the swamps?" You slap him in the face. "NO SHIT! WHERE IN THE SWAMPS!?!?" You look past him and you can see there's a proper blaze spreading like... like wildfire, come to think of it. Yeah... except, is it really wild? What considering you started it and all, you mean... wait. Fuck, can't be getting distracted like that. He stammers. "Ow! I-I don't know?" You slap the other cheek so the handprint so the handprints is even and shove past him. "FUCK IT! DON'T TELL ME, SHOW ME!" The lad catches on and runs up ahead so you can follow him to where he thinks the lad last was. The fire is spreading crazy now, the spot of the swamp you first saw the web is orange from the coals and you're starting to think there might not be any spiders when you hear a horrible, hideous noise from deeper in the webs, where the fire's going like mad.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Fuck. That wasn't a human noise. The lads are running away from the flames and you look back to spot some kind of misshapen shadow behind the fire, trying to skitter up into the trees. No, that's not a shadow. You spot the legs and the bristles and you shudder. That's the fucking spider. Big enough to eat a dog and carry it like a dog does a bone. Fuck. That's an abomination but you spot that it running up the tree didn't do it no good. The fire's spreading like mad and now it's on fire and the screams are even louder than they was before. "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
>>
>>4938287
Hang on a minute. You did that! You had the idea and everything! Goddamn, that feels good! You must be some kind of tactical genius, all smart and cunning-like. You bet the local lord and his men-at-arms in full harness won't stand a chance once you get your band of lads into a proper warband of lads, ha, you'll maybe burn him just like you did that spider just like- "BOSS!" You just got slapped in the cheek, and slapped in the other cheek so the handprints are even. You snap out of the fantasizing and look around. Yep. That's the Greyblood, stuck in the web like you ain't never seen a man stuck. Poor bastard looks right terrified at the shortsword in your hand and the fact what he can see the glow of the flames getting closer and closer by the minute 'cause the webs is linked but you aren't going to kill him so his life ends quick and merciful. You're going to cut him out so he dies slow and painful like the rest of the men, even if you've got to die doing it. Goddamn it. This fucking web.

Your shortsword got stuck in the nonsense but you put your whole back into it and rip it out and notice that now there's a big gash in the web next to the man. That confirms what the lad that got his knife stuck in their earlier said was true. It was too tough for him to cut through, 'cause he was a pussy too weak to do it! That and he was using a dull knife and all. Probably more of that than him not being strong enough but... Damnit, you need to stop getting distracted. That confirms it. You can get him out. You and the lads. The fire's getting closer so you shout, "C'MON! DON'T JUST STAND THERE, GET HIM OUT!" You lay into the web, rip your shortsword out, and do it again with ferocious strength. The stoutest of the lads take the billhook and woodaxe and they lay into the web too, and start ripping and tearing where you've already cut and there's sweat going down your forehead from the heat and exhaustion and this goes on for what feels like forever and he's still trapped and now the heat's unreal and you're going to have to leave him and... *RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP* He falls right out of the web.
>>
>>4938288
You kick him in the ribs for being fool enough to get stuck and then help him up and sprint away from it, 'cause about twenty seconds later the fire's already burning the spot where he was at. You run and stumble back to the clearing where you told everyone what the plan was and they're all standing there, except for the bowman, who's gawking at the flames. You stop, sheath your shortsword, and drop the Greyblood you was holding onto, and put your hands on your knees and catch a breath. The screeches from the spiders, 'cause of course there's more than one spider, are louder than they were and you're horrified but you take a look and see the fire's burned the web you saw earlier to ashes and is getting further along their whole web network by the second. There are a couple of spiders way up in the trees away from you, clacking their mandibles and staring at you with beady, red little eyes, but they can't reach you without running into the flames and they see how many of you there are and then they just skitter away.

Serves the bastards right. You see the flames are still burning. It's been about twenty minutes now. Lucky for you the webs seem to be damned flammable and the fire will keep burning as long as there's web attached to it to burn, and thanks to how muddy the swamp is, it's not likelier to go farther than that. A few of the spiders must've got caught in the blazes too, which is good, 'cause that's a few less spiders you're going to have to fight later. You've got a grin on your face and the bowman shakes you by the shoulder and hisses. "Ye hear that?" You stop panting and look at him. "... No. What is it?" He's got the widest grin you've ever seen on him. "Ye don't hear the poppin'?" You stop, and listen real close-like, strain your ears and... there, just a little quieter than the crackle, in a rotten tree stump what was hollowed out before the webs got in it. Every second, there's a *pop**pop**pop* and it doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. You look back to him and nod your head. "Yeah, I hear's it. What is it?" The outlaw flashes all fourteen of his teeth. "Listen... that right there's the sound them eggs of theirs make when ye kick 'em."
>>
>>4938289
You catch on immediately. "... Goddamn, does that mean-" He pats you on the shoulder. "That means ye caught a damned nest on fire! THAT MEANS YE CAUGHT A DAMNED NEST ON FIRE! HARHARHARHARHAR!" He's laughing hysterically and you realize. "That means they ain't gonna hatch n' with them webs burnin', that means..." He jumps up and down. "THAT'S RIGHT! THAT'S RIGHT YOU BRILLIANT BASTARD, THEY AIN'T COMIN' BACK! NOT 'TILL GOT THE NUMBERS BACK TO HATCH SOME MORE! THAT MEANS THIS SPOT OF SWAMP'S CLEANED RIGHT OUT!" You start laughing with him and the rest of the lads catch on and start hollering and tossing stones into the blazes, while the screeching gets fainter and the *pop**pop**pop* sounds get louder. You stay like that for hours, three of 'em, until the noise dies down and the fire's got nowhere to go but the wet mud and thick, waterlogged vines. That feels good. Feels better when you realize you're going to get to let the Greybloods know you was the one that did it. All-God... It's not even been hardly a week since you started looting.

The trip to the Greyblood's camp continues and you've still got only three more days, except now there's much less spiders in the area to worry about.

>Roll 1d100+40 to keep your eyes peeled

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 40 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Beasts: 1 lame donkey, carrying 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (12/20)(20/20)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Food: 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (12/20)(20/20)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: We've just burned out a giant spider's nest n' we wasn't even trying to!
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 82 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4938291
We did it lads!!

We might even deserve a nickname for that…
>Henry the Giant Spider Slayer
>>
>>4938333
Hey, reckon we can truthfully claim to be "beast slayers" when traveling now
>>
Rolled 16 - 40 (1d100 - 40)

>>4938333
You keep traveling through the swamps and the Greybloods seem somewhat at ease. The bowman keeps looking up in the branches and looks to be about a hair from pulling his knife but for the most part he's less paranoid now than he was yesterday... and the day before yesterday. While you're walking you poke one lad in the ribs with your elbow and talk a little bit. "Ye see that fire earlier? I's the one that had the idea to burn it. All them giant spiders is dead 'cause of me, 'n 'cause of them Greybloods 'cause they was the ones what found the black tar but I was the one what found the wood what we lit the black tar with, n' I was the one that had the idea to burn it n' started the fire to start with, ye see. So when ye really think about it, I's responsible for the fire." The Crow giggles and throws a rock off into the swamp. "Yeah, that's right boss! Ye is, isn't ye? That's bloody great."

You smile and keep walking. The mud squishes your boots. Makes you feel glad they's only got one hole in the side. "It IS bloody great isn't it? I killed all them spiders, yeah? Yeah I did! Burned 'em all right to crisps I did. I killed 'em all right dead!" The lad claps you on the back and laughs while you keep going on. "You know what, lad?" He shakes his head and has a dopey grin on his face. "No... What?" You talk. "I deserve a nickname for that, imagine... Henry, the Giant Spider Slayer! Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?" The lad scratches the back of his head and frowns. "Uh, well, yeah but..." You're still smiling. "Yeah but what?" He sighs, like he doesn't know how to put what he's about to say. "... Ye didn't actually slay a spider, boss. We's saw 'em all up in the trees n' everythin', all demonic n' horrible-like, but ye didn't ACTUALLY slay any spiders. Ye just burned 'em. That was real impressive ye know but it wasn't..." You realize all of a sudden. "Ye's right. It wasn't, was it? Damn." You keep walking and nothing much happens for a few minutes. "... Ye think Henry the Web Burner has a nice ring to it?" The lad starts to look a little nervous. "Uh..."

You keep walking and soon as you know it, you's going to sleep and waking back up and then there's two more days. At least this bread's not half bad.
>>
>>4938411
That conversation with your lad yesterday got you thinking. That was really impressive, what you did, might be the most impressive thing anyone from Falkirk has ever went and did, kind of impressive. Maybe you didn't really kill any spiders but you did burn 'em yeah? Maybe that's worth a nickname too. You know, commemorate the event and whatnot. It'd probably go over pretty well, makes you think, Henry, the... there's a lot of nicknames you could try for, yeah. Makes you think a little. The local lord wouldn't be scared of just some looter named Henry, but, Henry the Tax Robber? Henry the Hand Chopper? Henry the Giant Spider Slayer! It makes you sound all cool and whatnot. Yeah, a nickname would be pretty damned cool and they all saw you do it, so maybe you should try to push for one. You didn't actually slay a spider though. It might backfire if they insisted that since you didn't personally slay a spider, you didn't really slay any spiders, just the fire slayed the spiders, and that makes it seem more like you was just there and not like you had the idea to burn the spiders. Who knows?

>Push for a nickname of some kind, you've got a good idea...
>No, no, no yet, the water's not hot enough, you'll bide your time

You mull over it for a little, decide what you wants to do. That'll work, you think. Only two days left.

>Roll 1d100+40 to keep your eyes peeled

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 40 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Beasts: 1 lame donkey, carrying 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (4/20)(20/20)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Food: 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (4/20)(20/20)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: We've just burned out a giant spider's nest n' we wasn't even trying to!
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 62 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4938414
>>Push for a nickname of some kind, you've got a good idea...

Hmm gimme a minute
>>
Rolled 28 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4938414
>No, no, no yet, the water's not hot enough, you'll bide your time
>>
>>4938414
Spiderbane?
The torch?

Although hand chopper does have some charm to it.
>>
>>4938424
Henry the absolute madman?
>>
Rolled 42 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4938414
Not yet. We need to get an idea what people are thinking about us. Big titles for some nobody is just a way to get mocked.
>>
Rolled 51 - 40 (1d100 - 40)

>>4938419
>>4938422
>>4938486
No, no, not yet. The lad's right, having the idea to burn the spiders and cutting the man out before the fire reached him was impressive, and having that fire you started burn out a whole nest of the bastards was even better but that's something any lad could've done and a stroke of luck on your end. Better not too push too far too fast. You need to do something more impressive or personal in front of your lads if you want them to think you're a legend and not just what you are, the lad that's in charge. You keep up the pace and nothing much happens, except you're getting less and less bread by the day. You wake up and start walking. According to the bowman you'll be there by the end of today. You genuinely cannot wait.

>Roll 1d100+40 to keep your eyes peeled

>The Crows:
>The Lads: Henry, 2 Armed Looters, 2 Lightly Armed Looters, 3 Looters, (1 Injured) 40 Food, (-8 Food per day) 22 Loot, (-0 Loot per day)
>Beasts: 1 lame donkey, carrying 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (4/20)(20/20)
>Loot: 7 silver coins (21 Loot), 6 copper coins (1 Loot)
>Food: 2 grainsacks of low-quality bread, (4/20)(20/20)
>Injured Looters: 1 minor face wound
>Morale: We've just burned out a giant spider's nest n' we wasn't even trying to! We're also walking through the swamps, gettin' rather bored n' such.
>Infamy: You haven't had the chance to listen and see what the public perception of you and your band is.
>Belongings: 1 barrel of beer, (19/20), 2 small tents, 5 blankets, 4 thick blankets, 3 pots, and 4 pans
>>
Rolled 68 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4938509
>>
Rolled 46 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4938509
What do looters do for fun on the road? We gotta get some kinda hobby
>>
>>4938509
>>4938512
Nothing too eventful happens, thankfully, and part of you's thinking you're going to be walking through the swamp again but the rest of you, deep down in your bones, knows that soon you'll be at the Greyblood's camp and then you'll be talking to Rodderick. You've been wondering about the man for days now, your friend's been vague on him like he was on the spiders but it makes you think he might be vague about him like he was the spiders 'cause you wouldn't have believed him like you probably wouldn't have on the spiders. Unless he showed you a head or a leg or something but why the hell would you carry a rotting spider skull or leg in your pack unless you wanted it to start smelling bad after a few days? Too prove you killed the spider, that's a stupid question. You shouldn't have asked. "Hey, when are we gonna get to that camp of yers?"

The bowman stops walking, looks at a particularly fascinating tree trunk for a second, scratches his head, and starts walking again. "Seein' as that's the tree what me n' the lads carved a penis in a few weeks ago, I'd say... four, five minutes. Probably not even that." You're floored. "Damn, really?" You take a closer look at the tree stump and yep, there's a crude drawing of a penis carved into the bark, all sneaky-like. That's the sort of public art that'd get you drawn and quartered if the local lord's local guards caught you doing it, on account of public indecency and the like, even if they wives' supposedly wear dresses with hems that go between their breasts, all vulgar and tantalizing-like, like they like to show off to the serfs what the serfs can't have like, like a bunch of whores except they get paid with their family getting more lands and titles instead of a few coppers or a chunk of bread like honest harlots. You think for a minute. You'd probably rather have sex with a noblewoman than a whore even if the whore was more honest and approachable and whatnot, on account of the worms and such. That, and you could tell the local lord that you fucked his wife to his face, harharhar.

Whew, you think you can smell some smoke and you take a look up above the treeline. The sky's less grey than it usually is and you swear you can spot a trickle, just like if you made a campfire and was cooking a stew. Nice. That must mean you're close and that must mean... The patrol leader you've come to know so well over the last five days turns and claps you on the shoulder. "Henry. In these last few days, ye've gone from a stranger to a friend. I'm glad to have known ye but I's afraid here is where we part ways." You nod your head. "I understand, ye need to go back on patrol n' do yer duty to yer band." The outlaw looks at you with a slack-jaw. "... What? No, I just need to grab some damn stew n' get Rodderick! I'll explain what happened n' then I'll be back in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. See ye then!"

You smile in relief. "Alright, g'bye."
>>
>>4938592
At that, he goes off into the bushes with the other two Greyblood lads and then, for the first time since they were named, the Crows are left alone. You find a nice stump, sit on your ass, and try to see how many leeches you can spot wriggling around in the water. You have a good amount of trust in your friend, but leading your lads straight into another band's camp is a bad idea. What happens next is out of your hands.

You feel like appealing to your common outlawry with the bowman when you first met, promising a barrel of beer, and burning out a giant spider's nest might've helped. Just a little.

>Roll 1d20+12 for Rodderick's initial impression of you and the lads
>>
Rolled 11 + 12 (1d20 + 12)

>>4938596
>>
Rolled 8 + 12 (1d20 + 12)

>>4938596
>>
>>4938596
>>
Rolled 9 + 12 (1d20 + 12)

>>4938596
whoops forgot to roll
>>
>>4938606
You sit there for a time. A long time. You count the minutes. Five and nothing happens. Ten and nothing happens. You start to get worried. Fifteen and nothing happens. Now you're worried. Twenty and you get your hand on your shortsword just in case the worst happens... and then they break the treeline! You stand to fight the half-dozen men and you notice your friend is next to the hard-faced one in the front, and everyone there's grinning. You let go of the shortsword and get a nervous grin, and the man shouts. "OI! ARE YE THIS HENRY FUCKER I'VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT!?" You puff up your chest and shout. "THAT I IS!" And he narrows his eyes and looks to you, and your lads, sizing them up like you are his. These men have bows, except for two, who've got what look to be honest bucklers, and every one has a hatchet or nasty club on his belt.

A few of them have got scars, they're hard, wily-looking bastards, and the one you're talking to looks to be the hardest bastard of the lot, with a scar over the bridge of his nose like it got slashed with a knife one time, a pair of eyes what look like flint, and wrinkles on the edge of his mouth like he's used to frowning. Except now, he's got a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye. "AND IS IT TRUE THAT YE BURNED THAT INFERNAL FUCKIN' NEST WHAT HATCHED THE SPIDERS WHAT KILLED FOUR OF MY MEN?" You nod and shout. "THAT IT IS!" He lowers his voice and looks to you, not as a bandit chief sizing up a potential rival, but a friend meeting a friend he never knew he had for the first time. "And tell me now, is it true that ye got a barrel of beer, n' held off on drinkin' it long enough to drag it here, just so ye could share?" You nod, and speak with the truest sincerity with which you've ever spoke on this damned earth. "That it is," you cock your shoulder and point to the large barrel sitting between two of your lads and the lame donkey. "... 'n that, it is."

There are tears in the eyes of the men you're seeing and when the man next speaks, his voice cracks. "Then Henry... ye's a goddamn friend of mine, n' ye've no damned right to stand out here in the mud! C'MERE!" He walks forward and draws you into the first full-body embrace since your mother caught the pox, and you hug him back, and your face is wet for some reason even though it's not raining and you realize your eyes are full of tears. You clap each other on the back, and step back. His eyes are red. There's no shame in either of you. An outlaw's life is a lonely one, condemned by the local lord and his men-at-arms and all right-thinking peasants, but you look the man in the eye and you know now, that it doesn't have to be.
>>
>>4938650
He smiles and you spot a gap in his front-teeth, then he turns to his lads. "Go on, tell the cook to make some more stew." One of the men asks, almost to tears at the sight. "... How much?" Their leader pauses. "A full goddamn pot. Toss on the meat we's smokin' been too. Ain't every day we get guests worth havin'!" He nods and runs off without question. You look to the bandit chief and he scratches the back of his head. "... Right, ought to have started with introducin' myself. Name's Rodderick... n' that there's Finley..." -he gestures to the bowman you've been traveling with and you do a double-take, then shrug internally, narrative significance, is how it is- "...n' these here are my toughest lads, the ones from back when we was poachin' skinny game instead of fat men. I'm sure he's already told ye, but I's in charge of the Greybloods n' have been since the last boss got bit in the head by some spiders." Goddamn, you're about to offer your condolences but he picks up on it shakes his hand. "No, no, he's still alive. Just an invalid since then." You understand. "Ah."

You think for a minute, and introduce yourself. "Me name's Henry, but ye knew that, n' I'm in charge of the Crows. Have been since we got together." You neglect to mention that was only about eight days ago and he thinks it over and nods, then grabs you by the arm, in a way that's friendly, you know, not the way that gets you stabbed, you know, and points to where the smoke seems to have got a lot smellier. "Well c'mon then, we've got some catchin' up to do!" He looks over your lads. "All the rest of ye too! Lest... ye want to offend me honor." The air gets grim and the Greybloods serious, and you're quiet for a minute, then about to say something along the lines of you don't know what, you'll think off it while you're talking, and then he breaks the silence with a laugh. "Hah! I's yankin' yer chains! Ain't none of us got no honor. Now c'mon, won't be long 'fore the stew's ready." You follow him into the camp with your spirits high.
>>
>>4938651
You're not sure what you were expecting but it's not much better than you might've managed, given time. It's in a relatively dry clearing of the swamps, there's about a dozen patchwork tents where the ground's higher, and a few lean-tos of sticks and rags that don't look too bad. There's a good number of men, you'd say at least... twenty, maybe thirty, a few of them look alert with bows and quivers, axes and bucklers, but most don't look too much meaner than your own. You do spot something unusual, a couple of old men, too old to fight, sitting over by a small fire, a handful of children running around, and a man who's baldheaded but only in a big circle around his temple, leaning on a tree stump and drooling. That was probably their old boss. Sad.

There's a large cookfire going, and what look to be a few actual women, mostly old and wrinkly, but still, stirring a pot. These aren't the folks you would've expected to be at an outlaw camp in the swamps, but you don't much pry into it, you'll get a chance to ask sooner or later. You look to your lads and nod, jerking your shoulder to the camp and they get the message, going out and mingling with the rest of them. The reception you're getting here is the opposite of Murkwell, they're looking at you with warm smiles and eager eyes, like they's full of hope and you're one of the All-God's own holy men. It feels good. Damned good. You head off and start to try and talk to Rodderick but it doesn't get much through pleasantries until a shrill voice is calling out and everyone's lining up to get some stew. Some of that beer too, you gave the go ahead, long as you and the lads can each get a drink, and before you know it you're sat down in a proper, rickety chair and eating on a crude, rotting table. To you, it's a feast fit for an emperor.
>>
>>4938653
What do you want to talk about over dinner? No reason you can't talk over more than one thing but it'd be for less time the more you do. Most of all this you can probably talk about later, too.

>Rodderick, you want to know about how he got to be the leader and what he's done so far.
>Finley, you'll talk him up and explain how critical he was to your survival in the swamps.
>The old boss, about the kind of man he used to be before he got bit, and how he's doing now.
>The Greybloods, you'd like to know how they got started and most everything they've done.
>The other folks, it's a little unusual to see such... defenseless people living with some outlaws.
>The giant spiders, you hate the bastards and want to know everything he can tell about 'em.
>Yourself, you'll talk about how you've been leading the Crows so far and what all you've done.
>The Crows, your lads, all seven, formerly ten of 'em, the ones you've lost, and what you hope to do.
>The local lord, your shared sworn enemy and what you think the two of you could do against him.
>The world, the way it's coming to and whether or not he believes the end times are truly nigh.
>Not a damned thing worth talking about! You're finally sat down after days of walking, with a bowl of stew, a mug of beer, surrounded by friends new and old! To hell with it all, you'll carry on and have a grand old time!
>>
>>4938655
We've been trekking through a goddamn swamp full of giant fucking spiders, lost three lads, and All-God only knows what's going to happen next. I think we've earned a night of revelry!
>>
>>4938655
>>Not a damned thing worth talking about! You're finally sat down after days of walking, with a bowl of stew, a mug of beer, surrounded by friends new and old! To hell with it all, you'll carry on and have a grand old time!
oh yes!!! let's drink some beer, finally!!!! a second time but better
>>
>>4938655
>Not a damned thing worth talking about! You're finally sat down after days of walking, with a bowl of stew, a mug of beer, surrounded by friends new and old! To hell with it all, you'll carry on and have a grand old time!
>>
>>4938655
>Not a damned thing worth talking about! You're finally sat down after days of walking, with a bowl of stew, a mug of beer, surrounded by friends new and old! To hell with it all, you'll carry on and have a grand old time!

I'd love to pick more than one, especially I'd like to speak well of Finley, but we and the lads need to relax, enjoy ourselves. Feel safe, if just for a night.
>>
>>4938655
>>The Greybloods, you'd like to know how they got started and most everything they've done.
>>
>>4938655
>>Not a damned thing worth talking about! You're finally sat down after days of walking, with a bowl of stew, a mug of beer, surrounded by friends new and old! To hell with it all, you'll carry on and have a grand old time!
>>
>>4938665
>>4938710
>>4938749
>>4938772
>>4939065
To hell with what the local lord's doing out there, opportunities to "advance" yourself or your friend, and everything you "need" to know. You fucking mean that. The rest of this damned, dying world can go and rot for all you care 'cause right here, right now, you's finally reached the place you was heading for, you's finally got a mug of that beer in your hands, and you's finally got to meet a bunch of new people that genuinely understand you. They respect you, you even feel like they might care about you, and even if it's just the barrel you brought or the spiders you burnt or even just for tonight, who the hell cares? In the here, in the now, you're at peace and so you start to regale them with the story of the tax collector. No, not about how you robbed him and was cunning enough to search his shirt hem for pockets, but the look on his pompous face when you stripped him to his undies at knife point and had the lads carry his barrel out of the basement. You might not be the most accomplished story-teller but it's a damned good story and about five minutes in it has the lads roaring with laughter. You take a swig of your mug and keep on, finishing it, and then Rodderick goes and mentions the time he was trying to loose an arrow into a target as a boy, but the wind managed to blow it over his daddy's head straight into his hat, ruining it, and how he tanned his damned hide for it while he kept trying to grab the bow so he could loose at the target again. You giggle, that's a pretty funny story, and you finish your mug and realize you're a little empty, so you go and get another once the line's gone through and you's drinking some more, and some more, and some more, along with the rest of the lads and your new friends here, and after about two hours, the almost full barrel wide as about five men and tall enough to reach a man's shoulders, is completely empty and you're all drunk or tipsy enough you can't be arsed to care. You carry on like that for the rest of the night until it gets to about closer to morning than it is night and hard to tell which day it is, so you don't even bother with a tent, stumble onto a patch of mostly dry grass, and go unconscious.
>>
>>4939400
When you wake up you've got a splitting hangover and groan, both in pain and remorse for the sweet, precious, ambrosial beer you've lost. You crawl, pick a couple of new ticks off of you, and take a look around. Most of the camp's asleep except for some of the poachers, who look to be asleep on their feet, and those old men from yesterday, who look to be digging for some firewood. One of them grins at you with no teeth, just his gums, and it reminds you a little of the oldest man back in Falkirk, man was thirty-eight. Thirty-eight! Imagine that, thirty-eight years in this world and still having the will and bodily, uhhh, integrity, yeah that's it, to carry on. You can only imagine the sights he's seen and the old-fogey stories he'll try to ramble at you if you go and talk to him but he's paying most of his attention to the firewood now so it's no big deal. Over in the trees, you spot someone taking a piss. It's Finley and he looks to be about as hungover as you are, but he waves and staggers to where the stew-pot's still sitting, with a little bit of stew that hasn't gone bad yet still in it. Next to a couple of the bigger tents, the invalid's busy trying to make a mud castle and blowing bubbles on himself, very interesting, looks like he's making more of a tower, really, squishing the top to make some parapets or are they crenellations? Might be battlements, difficult to appraise his architectural vision at this distance. He doesn't seem to have noticed you. There's some rustling by a tent and you see Rodderick crawl out, he groans like you did, and makes a beeline for a tent on the far side of the camp like he's intent on something specific.

You'd like to talk to him but you're not sure if he's busy or not. You've also got a hangover and you don't think anybody would much hold it against you if you got a blanket out of your band's stash and tried to go back to sleep. The lame donkey seems to be doing well for itself, rooting in the reeds looking for something to eat, good for it. You've not appreciated it much but it's been useful, sure, and you did steal it from one of the local lord's local tax collectors.

Hmmm... There's a few different people you could talk to, this hour in the morning.

>The old men, they might know a bit about the Greybloods and be willing to ramble.
>The poachers, being members of the band, they could have an interesting perspective.
>Finley, the man, the myth, the legend, maybe you can suffer your hangovers together.
>The invalid, that's an interesting mud castle, maybe some of his old mind's still in there too.
>Rodderick, might could be able to help him out with what he's doing, might annoy him though.
>The lame donkey, you'll brush its hair and talk like you had an apple to feed it and such.
>Nobody, you're going to take a blanket and try to go back to sleep, it's too damn early.
>>
>>4939402
Vote for Finley. We know him better than the others so it's not like we are praying too much. Could ask where Rodderick ran off to, but it could just be the shitting spot. Talking to the old folks might be interesting but we are guests of the gang first.
>>
>>4939441
Supporting

Also, interesting that the band hasn’t captured any women…
>>
>>4939402
>Finley, the man, the myth, the legend, maybe you can suffer your hangovers together.

>>4939761
NO GIRLS ALLOWED! This is DUDE STUFF we're doing.
>>
>>4939402
>>Finley, the man, the myth, the legend, maybe you can suffer your hangovers together.
>>
>>4939402
>>Finley, the man, the myth, the legend, maybe you can suffer your hangovers together.
>>
>>4939441
>>4939761
>>4939763
>>4939764
>>4939793
You stagger over to the man and shout. "Oi, Finley!" He doesn't stop pissing and twists his back to look at you, and it looks like he's about to smile but he groans from the banging in his head and stammers. "AH! That fuckin' beer of yers... got a fuckin' drum beatin' n' bangin' on me head. Goddamn, what's got ye up so early?" You try to ignore the pounding between your ears and mutter. "Leeches n' mosquitos, that's what. Blimey vermin, makes me wanna burn this whole fuckin' swamp." The bowman, whose bow isn't on his shoulders for once, laughs. "Harharhar, you 'n me both Henry. Ye know, I's only known ye for a little while but... I think ye's a right proper lad, ye is." You grunt in affirmation. "Means a lot, ye'd say that ye know. Ye n' the lads have been better to us than most anyone from back in Falkirk, that's fer damn sure."

He stops pissing and pulls up his trousers. "Alright, lay it on me. I know you's curious about the camp, n' you n' me's close enough to Rodderick we can probably ignore that whole... need-to-know basis, thing. Go on, what's ailin' ye?" You think on it for a minute.

>"Where in the sweet holy fuck is all the womenfolks at!? Ye gots almost a whole damn village here, n' maybe two that ain't got tits near saggin' to their knees!"
>"Ye know... I been thinkin' since last night, ye seem pretty sharp with that bow of yers n' the woods n' the like. I know it's a lot to ask but, ye think ye could take me on as a study?"
>"Them giant spiders... them was dangerous n' unnatural-like, ain't never seen or heard tell of 'em, what all do ye know? How long has they been makin' webs n' eating folks?"
>"What's the story behind the Greybloods? Ye's a sizable group n' I hadn't heard nothin' of ye yet, n' I's sure Rodderick's gonna let me know but I want to hear it from yer mouth, too."
>"Uh... I don't mean to question yer talents at, er, woodcraft n' the like, but... there's a lot of lads here n' most of 'em don't look like yer caliber. How's you been feedin' everybody?"
>"Look, we's friends, least close as outlaws that known each other less than a week can get, n' I trust you like I hope you's trust me, so be honest, tell me, what's yer honest impression of me n' the Crows?"
>"HEY! Ye remember last night, when Rodderick had drank about three mugs n' was startin' to wave around his hatchet n' talk about how he was goin' to make the local lord's bones into a chair what wouldn't creak?"
>>
>>4939863
>>"Them giant spiders... them was dangerous n' unnatural-like, ain't never seen or heard tell of 'em, what all do ye know? How long has they been makin' webs n' eating folks?"
>>
>>4939863
>>"Them giant spiders... them was dangerous n' unnatural-like, ain't never seen or heard tell of 'em, what all do ye know? How long has they been makin' webs n' eating folks?"

>>"What's the story behind the Greybloods? Ye's a sizable group n' I hadn't heard nothin' of ye yet, n' I's sure Rodderick's gonna let me know but I want to hear it from yer mouth, too."

>>"Look, we's friends, least close as outlaws that known each other less than a week can get, n' I trust you like I hope you's trust me, so be honest, tell me, what's yer honest impression of me n' the Crows?"

While not specifically asking to be taken on ourselves, perhaps we could have ourselves and the lads try and learn some bushcraft
>>
>>4939863
How the hell ARE they getting enough to eat? Might be some useful tricks for us and the lads to learn
>>
>>4939863
>"HEY! Ye remember last night, when Rodderick had drank about three mugs n' was startin' to wave around his hatchet n' talk about how he was goin' to make the local lord's bones into a chair what wouldn't creak?"
>>
>>4939863
>"HEY! Ye remember last night, when Rodderick had drank about three mugs n' was startin' to wave around his hatchet n' talk about how he was goin' to make the local lord's bones into a chair what wouldn't creak?"
>>
Well i hope its not dead
>>
I was waiting for the fourth anon that was voting to post for a day and was surprise press-ganged into doing some shit and wasn't able to get back here to post until I was already borderline unconscious. I'm posting this at almost midnight where I'm at, I'll post coming again as soon as I wake up.