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.