Looters in Greater Snoring

Looters in Greater Snoring

In the small sleepy town of Greater Snoring under t’Hill voices are raised and the shrill scraping of steel on steel can be heard. Not by the towns folk for they have long fled, but by the local garrison from the Manor by t’Hill.

The town square hasn’t seen so much activity since the start of the war.

The Reverend Jeremiah Blackstock has decided to take a rest from his self-imposed task of Witch Finder and strike a blow for Parliament by liberating goods and chattels from the evil spawn that support the Kings cause in Greater Snoring.

Two of his stoutest followers wave their Bible and Pamphlets in support of the advance guard. They are prepared to use cold steel to emphasise their support but would prefer to be employed in Witch Finding, it’s a much safer occupation.

Especially when they see a small but stout band of tough looking fighters headed their way. The dashing officer is leading his men from the front, an unusual sight and one full of obvious menace; he must know his men are dependable and will follow him into the coming fight.

All for 1 and 1 for all.

Maybe it’s time for the Reverend to hurry the looters/liberators and get the goods onto the cart and out of town while he still can.

A final view of Greater Snoring before blood is spilled and men die.

Johnathan Harker shouted “Give them fire men and then follow me” At close range three pistols spat flames and bullets, the men were veterans of many a fight, wolves amongst sheep, and they made full use of their advantage.

They shot the officer in the right leg, it was only a light wound but the impact of the ball stunned him momentarily. Not so the man waving his bible, the ball hit him high in the right arm, he dropped his sword before falling to the ground so badly wounded that for all intents and purposes he was out of the fight.

Harker didn’t need to encourage his remaining wolves, the ones without a pistol, they loped forwards through the smoke. The wounded enemy officer lost his nerve, he would have run but his leg let him down. ‘Quarter’ he shouted and threw down his sword, it was a close call but his surrender was accepted.

To his right the fight was short and sharp. Wielding his mortuary sword like a hammer the Royalist beat down the defence of his opponent, pushing him back and then following up with a wicked disabling blow that put his man down. It could have gone differently if the musketeer behind could have fired but he was too slow to raise his weapon, it was all over in a split second, and there were three men down.

The Musketeer pulled back to cover behind the well but his companion with the blunderbuss ran like a hare.

The pistoleros moved forward to join the Mortuary Men and Harker made the decision to attack the enemy without reloading first. Sweep them away before they could re-group, he’s a bold leader and not averse to taking risks.

However Reverend Jeremiah Blackstock, had rallied his group of men and quickly assessed the situation. He was now outnumbered, with 3 men down 1 runner and another shaken and falling back. Better to take the loot in hand and retire quickly rather than face Hawker’s wolves and take more casualties. ‘With me men’, he called before turning away and running as if the devil was snapping at his heals.

He wouldn’t forget this action in a hurry and as they ran he thought again of witch hunting, it was far more lucrative and much more enjoyable.

A short sharp game, mainly because I've just painted these rascals and spent what is for me, an inordinate amount of money on the Conflix buildings so wanted to see them out on the table. I have 40 figures in total, all fighting men and want to get about 20 or so civilians.

In the past I did a few games of witch finding and monster hunting with some older figures and that's what these are for, although there will be plenty of local raiding and fighting for them to undertake. I've just been re-watching the BBC's Three Musketeers and was immensely impressed with the scenery, in town and village, so there may well be games set in France as well, using the Musketeer ethos.

So the current plan is to finish painting and buy the civilians but I want to try and make the buildings more of a town than a collection of houses on a mat. I thought of creating loose pavement bases so the houses can sit on them and I should be able to make more of a street scene using the pavements to delineate it. To make it look more lived in I thought straw and horse shit in the streets would help.

If anyone who reads this has any ideas or can point me to pictures of street scenes in the early 1600's I would be most grateful.

Cheers

Sheep Rustling in the Debatable Land - The Aftermath

I expect there’s a huge body of wargamers and LAF members who are thinking “I wonder what happened to our jolly trio and Reba” ……..well maybe not but I’m going to tell you anyway. I felt the story was unfinished, did they get home, did Mad Wullie Snapcase, Dashing Dougie Douglas and the other one get away with it or are their corpses feeding the crows on some lonely moorland.

Smalldale

The Snapcase hamlet is quiet….too damn quiet.

A young girl, a bent back woman and maybe that’s One eyed Tam, but there should be more.

The place is deserted, have the Armstrong’s already been through here and killed everyone?

No……or the hay would be burning as would the buildings. Not the Armstrong’s then.

Mad Wullie, Dashing Dougie and Vagabond enter the hamlet. There’s Reba with them but only 1 sheep and why is Wullie looking so humourless, it’s not like him.

One Eyed Tam runs forward and embraces Vagabond, “Where the hell have you been. The whole vale is out looking for you” “Get off me you daft old bat” was the immediate response followed by “We’ll tell you later, just bring us a jug of ale and put this sheep in the pen before the blasted dog drives it off too”

“She’s a good dog” Dougie says. “Good” explodes Mad Wullie “We reived 29 sheep and we’ve come home with one, that’s not good Dougie” “You’re going to have to improve your training methods or we will be eating uncontrollable dog for supper, and I’m getting hungry” he finished.

It was late when most of our men and women returned from searching for us. There was some relief that we were home until Dikeray said “The sheep that’s in the pen, isn’t that the Armstrong colour on its rump” It all went quiet until we came clean and explained about the fog, then the snow and getting lost and raiding a farmstead and then finding out that it might have been an Armstrong farmstead, by this time everyone was looking worried. Then finally we described the fight at the ford, that cheered everyone up. No living Armstrong’s to tell the tale, that was alright then. Well it was alright until we mentioned Ill Will Armstrong coming over the hill before we had gotten out of sight.

We’ll leave for the hills now some one shouted, leave everything, they’ll kill us all, were the sort of comments being bandied around as panic set in.

“Calm down it’s OK” said Mad Wullie “they couldn’t follow us, it started to rain and then it turned to sleet, sleet so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face”. “Not that you’d have tried to put your hand in front of your face or it would have gotten frostbite and dropped off. Anyway it’s only one sheep, they won’t care about one sheep”.

Two days later, the Armstrong’s arrived, it appeared they did care.

Ill Will Armstrong strode up to Snapcase and said “We’re looking for our sheep”

I just knew Wullie was going to ask “Why, have you lost them and isn’t that a bit careless” I furtively loosened my sword in its scabbard. Fortunately Wullie had his game face on, the one that you learn means “don’t play dice with this man.” He replied noncommittally that we hadn’t had sheep in the valley, not since some skunner from south of the border had driven them off six months ago.

Ill Will looked at Mad Wullie very carefully before telling him that they would search the hamlet and they’d do it thoroughly. As an aside he also informed us that they’d burned out 3 homesteads yesterday, for practice he said and also because they found Armstrong property there…..but mainly for the practice.

His men fanned out, even checking the dwellings, I know we have a bad reputation, but why they’d look for sheep in the houses I couldn’t understand.

Unless of course that the stories of One Eyed Tam and his night of debauchery in the sheep pen had got out of the valley and they were just making sure.

The remainder of the Armstrong’s watched us, ready for action but looked distinctly uneasy, I guess that was our bad reputation as well, hopefully as fighters rather than with the sheep, but you never know.

I looked apprehensively at the 2 fire pits, one was still glowing a little, then I looked away.

Checking the pen they were only able to find two small pigs, yes that out of focus blob is a pig.

The search continued until every where was declared clean, well it’s not LAPD and things were pretty grubby but you know what I mean.

With some reluctance on their part, Ill Will and his men left to continue their search for the lost Armstrong sheep.

Dougie looked at the fire pits and started to smile.

When the last Armstrong was out of earshot we started to laugh, and couldn’t stop. Nervousness and a close call with the Armstrong family can’t be ruled out.

If they’d arrived yesterday it wouldn’t have been a laughing matter, tears would have fallen and blood would have been spilled, our blood in all probability.

We had invited our closest neighbours and had a feast. There’d been music, dancing, Dougie demonstrating how Reba could round up hens and we’d had a gay old time.

Well what else can you do with 1 sheep, it had been spit roast over an open fire and cooked to perfection, eaten with gusto and best of all there was no evidence for anyone to find…..unless Ill Will had cut us open to inspect out entrails.

The blurry pigs had disposed of the bones and other bits and pieces and so, if no one outside the Vale heard of our feast we would be safe. None of us was likely to brag about our sheep raid….were they.

And how many sheep did you reive, 29 we reply. That’s a very nice sized flock they say, did you loose any on the way home……28 we reply. No - no one would brag about this raid…..maybe next time!

Cheers

Sheep Rustling in the Debatable Land - The Fight

Sheep Raiding in the Debatable Lands

“Well that’s torn it” said Mad Wullie Snapcase, “they have to be Armstrong’s across the river, looks like we’ll have to fight our way through”. “We’ll have to leave the sheep, they’ll just get in the way” said Dashing Dougie Douglas, “I don’t think Reba can hold them together unless I’m with her”. “Bugger that” I responded, “we’ll drive the sheep straight at them, once they’re in the river they’ll stay on the line of the ford”. My companions looked dubious at that idiotic remark! 

Well I’m not leaving them behind without a fight I continued, lets go. There is a rumour in our valley that I’m a Yorkshireman with all the kindness and generosity of a Scotsman squeezed out of him, but of course that’s ridiculous, but having got the sheep I wasn’t going to give them back meekly.

“If we wrap our scarves around our heads they’ll not recognise us, maybe we can get through without bringing hell and damnation on the rest of our folk”, said Dougie. “We could shout the Grahams war cry” said Wullie, “I can’t remember what it is but I’m sure it’ll come to me”.

Surprisingly we got the sheep moving in the right direction, Reba was working well and we had them surrounded on 3 sides leaving the way open to the water.

That’s when they bolted, first they went left and Reba remained under Dougie’s control, then they turned and started back the way we’d come and again the cries and whistles from her master guided the dog to the right place and she shopped the stampede.

Although I’m not sure a flock of 3 sheep can stampede, the 4th one was quietly munching grass as Wullie eyed it malevolently.

Jasper Armstrong on the far side of the river watched this circus and took another sip of whisky from his flask and considered if he should attack the Lone Rustler before the other 2 clowns could get back and help, but his two cousins said they should stay put.

We finally got the sheep back to the ford and the danger to Snapcase was over without him ever realizing it existed.

The whisky was getting to Jasper and he became more and more desperate to advance into the ford and bring the fight to the enemy. “We can take you” he shouted but his cousins remained adamant that they wouldn’t go into the river.

We pushed and roared at the sheep and they went forward but the water was getting deeper with each step, 18” at least, Reba was swimming now as one of the blasted woolly things veered off the ford and into deep water on the downstream side. I rushed forward to try and catch it but slipped on the smooth pebbles under foot and nearly went in myself. Wullie was advancing slow and careful but the Douglas moved as fast as he could to rescue his dog. It nearly was the end, he slipped and went down on one knee but didn’t fall, “damn and blast you Reba, Cum Bye” but the dog was out of control, chasing the sheep and ignored him.

Jasper Armstrong held his pistol loosely and knew he could make the shot, as he was raising his arm his 1st cousin said “no, not yet, wait till they get closer”.

The wayward sheep was trying to get back to the flock and I reached down and pulled it back onto the ford and the water became more shallow as we neared the far bank, only 6” here and we were almost across. Reba is now out of the water but still chasing the sheep and Dougie is still chasing her. Yet again he moves too fast and nearly falls, but cat like, he’s up immediately.

Mad Wullie also slips but doesn’t fall, we’ve been luck so far, as Jasper assess the range he decides it’s still too far, well his 1st cousin knows it’s too far, Jasper is a rubbish shot.

“Ne Oublie” “Ne Oublie” Snapcase shouts I think he’s gone mad but it turns out he’s finally remembered the Grahams battle cry, and Reba takes it up, barking like a mad thing, the sheep bound forward in the shallow water…..straight at the Armstrong line.

“I’ll take the one in the centre” the Douglas and I shout in unison and we fire together. Jasper Armstrong staggers as he’s hit, “I got him” we both cry in unison, “no I got him” we both countermand the other.

“First blood to us” screams Wullie “Ne Oublie” “Ne Oublie” “Kill them”

This would have seen lesser men take to their heels but the Border Folk are made of stern stuff.

Two of the sheep managed to avoid the Armstrong’s but the two on the right ran full tilt into Jasper and his 1st cousin. Both Armstrong’s managed to stay on their feet but disaster for the one on the right because he dropped his half pike and is defenceless when Wullie heaves himself up onto the river bank swinging his sword like a Norse God. Wullie said later that he slipped on the muddy bank but it was just an excuse, his opponent ducked the flailing attack and didn’t go down.

Jasper clutches his wounded gut as the sheep hit him, also drops a weapon, his pistol and Wullie thinks of the broken one in his waistband, useless with the broken lock and can see where it’s replacement is coming from.

Dashing Dougie also made it to the river bank but Grim Armstrong didn’t give way and he drove Dougie back into the water.

As I dashed forward I’d stumbled yet again in the treacherous ford, going down but the water was shallow and I just got wet through. Damn this, I’ll catch my death of cold so I took a gulp from my hip flask before moving forward to join the fight.

I attacked Grim, relieving the pressure on Dougie, but he was good and forced me back. Dougie had recovered his breath and attacked and again was forced back. Reba his dog went mad, out of control and she attacked Grim Armstrong, biting at his ankles. He tried to kick her but to no avail.

Snapcase didn’t give his opponent a chance to recover and attacked again and again. His enemy didn’t stand a chance without a weapon and died on the banks of the river.

Grim Armstrong has backed away from Reba and away from the river bank as Mad Wullie Snapcase shouting and screaming “Kill them,” “Ne Oublie” “Ne Oublie” “Kill them”, charges forward at Jasper Armstrong. Any man would have been forgiven for running but not Jasper.

He stood his ground with my pistol ball in his guts and fought Snapcase man to man. It might have been the drink but he put up a strong resistance to this determined attack.

Grim Armstrong turned to run but Dougie and I got there before he could and with two of us we overpowered him, he was down with a sword slash to the leg as it started to rain.

We turned to help Snapcase but he shouted “Stand back, he’s mine” and he went for Jasper again.

I looked at Dougie and he looked back. “Well one of us has to do it” I muttered, but neither of us could.

Then Jasper went down and Snapcase said, what are you waiting for as he cut Jaspers throat. Nothing we said and did the same to Grim.

There will be no one to tell the tale.

“OK, we’d better go, and quickly”, I said pointing back the way we’d come.

As a large group of figures came over the hill…..Armstrong’s? Hells teeth is that Ill Will Armstrong leading them?

We didn’t wait to find out.

Sheep Rustling in the Debatable Land Backstory and Scenario

A short backstory to a game and the scenario for the game.

Damn this fog, we were lost again, well in reality we’d been lost for the best past of 3 days, would we ever find a landmark we recognised, and then all of a sudden it started to clear. Slowly at first, the tendrils of grey wispy mist gradually disappeared and on a cold grey day in November we saw the river and the standing stone on the low hillside above it. Devils Ford, I recognised it straight away and so did my companions, their faces lit up and they quickened their step, until realisation set in.

“Reba cum by” I heard Dougie say as the mutt started to get excited again. She had been the bane of our lives, ever since we left home. Dougie was convinced that his training had turned her into a sheep dog and we had believed him. What fools we’d been, after one day we were left with only 4 sheep out of the flock of 29 we had stolen from the Armstrong’s that morning.

The Armstrong’s I hear you gasp in amazement, they are the strongest and most feared family in the West Marches, fully able and willing to bring 3,000 men to a fight. We owed allegiance to no one and if we mustered every man in our valley we could barely raise 24. Although if you counted Lame Tam and One Eyed Ned that would increase our number to 26, and would even the odds......a little.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning, and it had sounded a promising beginning three nights ago, when full of the local Poteen we’d decided we weren’t too old to make one last raid across the border before the winter set in. There were three of us, Mad Willie Snapcase, Dashing Dougie Douglas and me, The Black Vagabond. We told no one of our venture, fully intending to come back bragging of our successful raid.

We’d left early, in the dark but by mid morning it was bright sunshine, then the weather turned and it just got worse. Mist so thick you couldn’t see the man in front, of the man in front of you, and there were only the 3 of us. Then the snow came, driving hard and fierce, blinding us for hours before ceasing and by that time we were lost. We slept out on the hillside, cold, because we couldn’t find any dry kindling but we were well fed, the dried meat was good, unlike the cold porridge which was bloody awful. Another morning of mist and sleet and then in late afternoon we spied a small farmstead in the distance. Not being sure where we were, we decided to raid it before first light and make our way home as fast as we could.

It was a long night, sheltering behind a dry stone wall but a fire was out of the question, even if everything wasn’t wet through. The first gleam of daylight enabled us to round up the small herd of sheep from the fold near the house without waking the occupants, and we set off westward.......in the general direction of home. 

It was only now, seeing the Devils Ford that we realised we’d come off the High Rigg on the east side of the uplands and raided the vale inhabited by a branch of the Armstrong family, we’d made what might be the biggest mistake of our lives.

“No use worrying about it now” said Mad Willie, “let’s get this flock across the ford, it’s only 15 miles to home, we should make it before dark”. “If we can keep the mutt from driving off the last 4 sheep in the flock” I muttered darkly. “She’s a good dog” Douggie said, bending down to pat the mutts head and then she started to growl.

He swiftly took his hand away but Willie said “it’s not you, look over there. Three shadowy figures emerged from the mist on the far side of the ford. “Armstrong's”, he spat the words out, “that’s put a damper on it”.

We drew our swords and evaluated the situation.

Two of us were armed with a sword and pistol, Mad Willie had a sword and shield but the lock on his pistol was broken. My companions were both wearing the locally made jack’s but I was slightly better armoured with a metal corselet and steel helmet, we had 4 sheep and a daft dog. Only Dougie can control the dog and even then it’s pretty hit and miss.

Across the river two of the Armstrong’s appear to be wearing jack’s and armed with stout spears, the man in the middle has a sword and pistol and is wearing a metal corselet and helm the same as mine.

There is a sheep fold on our side of the river with a gate closest to the river. The ford is obviously fordable but with the bad weather will be more difficult than usual, we don’t know how difficult until someone tries to cross it. The river is quite wide at the ford and our pistols are inaccurate unless at close range, about 15 yards, so we can’t stand on the bank and shoot them, well we can but the chance of a hit is non existent.

There is a bridge 5 miles down river and another ford 10 miles up stream but both will take us back into Armstrong land. Almost certainly there will be a Hot Trod out, with Armstrong’s trying to discover where their remaining sheep are. They will probably be behind us somewhere and could appear at any minute or not at all. If any of their men across the river escape, they can confirm where the sheep are and bring the Trod here quickly. At this distance they won’t recognise us but as soon as we get within 50 yards of them, our identification is certain, as will be our deaths.

If you've any good ideas how to extract ourselves it's too late but thanks for thinking of them.