[Group Event] Benjicot lost in the Black Wood

Gerrad knelt down to examine the body.  There were two other bodies in the clearing.  All had been savaged.

"How long?" asked Willum

"'Ard to tell."  the poacher replied.  "What's left of 'em is frozen solid."

The two men glanced at the carcasses of three large wolves, similarly savaged.

"Must be 'ungry.  Don't usually et their own."

"We're all hungry." replied Willum.  "Any sign of the boy?"

Gerrad shook his head.  "Probably ran.  Smartest thing 'e could 'ave done.  The remainder of the pack would 'ave et and not followed."

"So we have a twelve year old Lord alone and lost in a wood full of wolves and shadowcats?  Gods preserve us.  Her Ladyship is going to have a fit!  We have to find him!"

The grizzled hunter rose and glanced dispationately around the clearing.  "Oh, we'll find 'im,"  By his tone, the man expected to find the boy in pieces.  


While returning from town to the Castle, Benjicot Blackwood and his retinue were forced from the road by a sudden snow squall and attacked by a pack of wolves.  His retinue was killed but Benjicot managed to escape and is now lost and alone in the Black Wood.

The TNs for this event are extremely high and will require all the players working together.  One player will make the main roll.  One player may Co-Ordinate.  All other players may assist.  Cohorts may assist.  Lady Corrine may also choose two NPCs in her employ to assist.

Awareness (Notice): TN29  (TN9 +10 Heavy Snow, +5 Overcast, +5 Mountains) to pick up the tracks.  Assist and Co-ordinate TN9.
(You may repeat this roll if you fail.  Each time you have to, Benjicot suffers an Injury.)

Survival (Track) TN29  to follow the tracks.  Assist and Co-ordinate TN9.
(You may repeat this roll if you fail.  Each time you have to, Benjicot suffers a Wound.)

Fighting (any) TN 24 to defeat any threats to him and you.  Assist and Co-ordinate TN12.
(You may repeat this roll if you fail.  Each time you have to, all players suffer a Wound.)

Healing (Treat Injury) TN 21 to save Benjicot from any Wounds or Injuries he may have suffered.  Assist and Co-ordinate TN9.

If found, Benjicot will be found unconscious in the snow.  He has a 3 Endurance.  If Benjicot cannot take any more injuries, he starts taking Wounds.  If he receives Wounds that exceed his Endurance, he will be found dead.  If he is found with Wounds that equal his Endurance, the Healing test increases to 26.

If Benjicot is saved, all participating players gain 1 Glory.

If you choose not to use NPCs to help you with this event and Benjicot is saved, all participating players gain 1 TDP as well and Benjicot gains 1 DP.

Luke crouched down in the clearing, his face almost level with the surface of the snow. He'd been like that for several minutes, sharp eyes scanning the clearing.

"If you can't see any tracks, just say so, boy." muttered Gerrard.

Luke turned his head to look up at the man with mild disapproval. "It's not that I can't see any tracks," he scoffed. "It's that I see too many."

Fresh snow lay on the ground and covered the bodies. To those gathered, most could see nothing but a blanket of white.

He turned to the handsome Knight that had summoned him here. "Garlan is it? I need more information. How tall was the boy? How much did he weight? Was he armored? Lightly or heavily? How old? Normally a quick stride or a slow one?"

"What does any of that matter?" said Gerrad irritably.

"Because I say it matters." spat Luke. "Unless you can unravel the tracks of five men, eight wolves and a dire wolf under six inches of snow?"

Benjicot - Awareness (notice): 5d6r1k4+3! 18

"The boy's about...here...hunstman," Garlan just holds a hand up, palm down, to show Benjicot's rough height compared to his own.  "But thinner than me.  'Lanky,' I'd call him.  No armor that I know of, he didn't often wear it but in the practice yard, I hear.  Long legs, but not generally what I'd call a hurrier."

"Ambler," Ser Garlan says after a moment, the word coming out as a puff of steam.  His one eye scans the horizon again, the other as white and useless as the snow all around.  "I'd say he's normally an ambler."

Then, as Luke gets back to staring at snow the rest of them can't decipher, he gives Gerrad a private little shake of his head.  We asked the hunter for aid, the shake tries to say.  The least we can do is help him give it.

"His prints are like to be smaller than the rest, lighter, but spaced well apart," he says after a few moments, knowing it's not terribly helpful to an experienced tracker.  But then, "Different boots, too, though.  Softer than the guards, most like.  Newer, no holes or patches or the like.  At that age I was growing like a weed, needed new boots every turn of the moon, it felt like."

He knows, also, that a young lord could afford newer, softer, boots, and his guards couldn't.  But he doesn't say it.  From what he's heard of this Luke, he doesn't have to, the tracker's likely already thinking it.

[+2 from my assist]

"There is no such thing as direwolves," Regyn mutters under his breath, but loudly enough to be heard by everyone in attendance, "those are just stories told by Mummers to entertain audiences, not spread truth like some Maester."

Regyn grunts in disgust, then moves to the side of the clearing. Poor boy does not stand a chance out in this snow Regyn thinks, moving his hands down to his pants to relieve himself into a tree. Suddenly he notices some broken branches a frozen femur jetting out from the snow, possibly from where a wolf had dragged away some of the man to maw on the leg in peace from the rest of the pack. Reglan forgets to relieve himself as a shouts over to the Hunter. "I think I found something over here, hopefully you can make some use from it. Looks like a jumbled mess to me."

[+2 assist]

"You two, spread out a bit more and someone check that hollow..."

[Benjicoot lost Coord fight test Will4, +B coord: 5d6k4 16]

[Mountain Terrain ignored... TN24. Roll, +4 Assists, +4 Co-ordinate] 26

Luke picked his way carefully around the clearing, looking at what, to all appearances, was featureless snow.

"There were five men. Four guards and the young Lord. They came from the south, probably seeking cover from the sudden storm. First the pack of wolves came and encircled them. They fought the wolves, killing three, but then the alpha came. A direwolf.

Two of the guards ran, fleeing to the northeast, towards the castle. Two remained, dying to the wolf attack. Once they were dead, the boy ran as well, northwest, into the Black wood.

The wolves remained and feasted upon the bodies of the fallen men and wolves, then, they too proceeded northwest. They were, perhaps, four hours behind him."

He did not say what everyone was thinking: That was ten hours ago.

Luke rose from his crouch and strode off to the northwest without another word, leaving the others to follow or not. Every once in a while he stopped. Examining some bush or tree, or snowdrift looking for signs few others could see.

Benjicot - Survival (Track): 4d6 20

Harwin walked just behind the young hunter with the keen eyes. He wasn't the tracker that Luke was but what he lacked in talent, he tried to counter with effort and experience. As he saw anything other than fresh white snow around, he called it out to the huntsman. His actions earned him a couple questioning looks from the lad, and Harwin could only shrug and grunt in response.

Seen that look before, given it a few times too...Really you found that important old man?

More often though the young man took a closer look and nodded before moving on.

[+1 assist]

Garlan keeps everyone on track, and -- it's surprising and sad that he needs to work at it -- keeps the bickering to a minimum. Some of the guards are resentful of 'taking orders' from Luke, and Luke's clearly spent a lifetime mastering sullen stares...but they need to focus, and focusing is what Garlan's keen on. He helps when he can, his one good eye is plenty sharp, but mostly he reinforces the others, compliments when they do well, sympathizes when they don't, and keeps the group working, moving forward, and steadily working on the tracks.

ooc:

Ben searched as the others, but was of little help. That is until he listened to the young hunters descriptions. He played the event out in his head.

"The forest thickens to the east, heavy ground coverage, but remains thinner in the northernly direction. More open. So the question is did he try to lose them or out run them?"

It was not some much an answer, but a possible clue. Hopefully of use to the tracker.

[+1 Assist]

[Mountain Terrain ignored... TN24. Roll 20, +2 Assists, +4 Co-ordinate]  26

The freshly fallen snow, high winds, and rocky terrain was making things difficult.  The vast majority of tracks Luke found were the wolves, not the boy.  The handsome guard Captain had a keen eye for detail.  Luke chuckled at that thought, and then immediately felt guilty.

The warrior thought he was a better tracker than he was, but as he looked like he could handle himself in a fight, and Luke had no desire to be direwolf food, he endured the man pointing things out with patience.  He had noticed a scrap of cloak Luke had not.

"His stride is quick, but not panicked, Milord."  Lord Marsten knew practically nothing about tracking, but he did know his lands.  "My guess is he was looking for some place to hole up till morning and get out of the storm.  I doubt he realizes the wolves are behind him.  If I were him, I'd-"  Luke broke off in mid sentence and stared over his Lord's shoulder.

"Lord Marsten..." said Luke in a quiet voice.  "there is a shadowcat about twenty feet directly behind you.  In about six seconds, it's going to try very hard to rip out your throat."

Roll:

Ben nods at the boys warning. He subtly changes his direction drawing nearer the old northern and Markus' boy. A gentle tug reassures him his blade is not stuck. His senses pull at him. When the cat leaps he is ready and whirls around steel streaking through the air.

"Yagh!" Garlan lets out a yell -- louder than his slender frame seems capable of producing -- as his father's old greatsword arcs up and out. He's half out to startle the cat onto someone else's blade, half trying to take the thing's head off, himself, if he must; one way or th'other, the cat's not tasting Marsten flesh nor Marsten retainer, if Ser Garlan can help it.

Damn pack of rabid wolves and now a shadowcat, I'll be on the lookout for a fucking bear any moment...

Harwin tenses for a moment as Lord Marsten nears and waits. Time seems to linger but then the Lord spins surprisingly quick, and his own blade flashes towards the beast seconds behind.

[+2 Assist]

Ronnel catches the young hunters look and squinting, he is just able to make out a shape in the snow behind Lord Ben.

The two guards whose turn it is to pull his shameful snow cart are resting nearby.  Ronnel summons them with a wave and a mitten covered hand to his mouth to indicate silence.

"Have you spears ready." he whispers.  "And help me out of this thing."  

Standing now, the Maester draws his own, well made, and never used in a fight, dagger.  With it, he points to the shadow and the guards nod, ready to move in at their Lord's word.

Roll:

Those fearing for Lord Marsten's safety need not have worried. As the mangy shadowcat charges, probably forced to by hunger, the warrior whirls and swings, removing the cat's head from it's body with a single blow.

Luke picks of the corpse by the tail, waiting a few moments for much of the blood to drain before putting it in his hunter sack; then the party moves on in search of the stricken Lord.

It takes two more hours, but Luke finally finds the boy unconscious, wedged in a narrow crack in the mountainside shielded by a rock ledge. Young Lord Blackwood obviously suffers from cold, but other than a few scratches, seems otherwise unhurt by his ordeal.

"Step aside! Out of the way, make room for the Maester!"

Garlan puts himself to work immediately, steering the hunters and guards aside -- their work is done, for the moment -- and waving up the portly surgeon. It's not a fight for sharp blades, helping against this sort of bone-deep cold is something for sharp minds, and Maester Ronnel's got the keenest around.

Regyn Thulan hated this cold, he hated being out in the wind, he was even taking a strong disliking to being dragged out to search for a dead child.

But most of all he hated himself.

For it was not himself who leapt to the Ladies aid when she needed it. Oh no. Regyn had screeched and hid behind the fat Maester and women's skits. Thankfully the pitiful sound that had come from his mouth helped distract a wolf for long enough for the brave men to take care of a wolf, but he had been as much help in the fight as a unflowered girl.

But this was different, this was something he could do.

He listened attentively as the Maester gave his instructions. He pumped on the chest as he was told to, while the others quickly built a fire. He gave his tattered cloak to the blue lipped form of the boy, hoping that it would help keep him from freezing. He even took off his own clothes and shivered in the cold, using his own heat to warm up the child.

He did all he could, but he feared it would not be enough.

Assist:

Rolls:

Ronnel examines the boy and starts removing his clothing.  There are minor injuries but nothing that compares to the damage the cold will do if the young one isn't warmed soon.  He hears a couple men gasp, thinking its the wrong thing to do, but old Regyn is already stripping down and obviously knows what comes next.  He nods briefly to the old fellow.

He feels the warmth of the fire started and cautions the builders not to make it too hot.  "Warming him too fast is a bad as not warming him at all."

He leaves Regyn naked and cuddled up with the lad both surprised and impressed that the old beggar knew to do such a thing, coming form less a than frigid homeland.

For some time he  sits near the boy, checking his breathing and heartbeat.  As he does, he wonders how the Lady fares, in her vigil in the Sept.  It must be comforting, he thinks, to have the guardianship of divine beings to give one solace in hard times.  But blind faith is not his way, nor that of many Maesters, he thinks.  Still, he cannot deny the Gods.  Simply look at a living body!  'We know that illness can sicken, weaken, even waste away the flesh.  We know that when the heart stops beating within the chest, then life is gone.  But no one knows how long a life will last or what ravages one may or may not be subject to.'  WE know the effect of growing older, but we understand less than a little of why.

Ronnel has seen whole families dying of pox and yet one member seems untouched!  So no, he will not deny the gods, just because the proof of them is... vague.

What he is glad for, is the lady having had the sledge made and stocked with blankets and other items that will make Benjicoot's survival more likely and their trip less like to end in failure.

Roll:

After an hour or more, he announces to the everyone that they may begin the trek home.  "Benjicoot will survive now, I think, if we do not jostle him over much."  His voice is more confident than his spirit, but he knows that everyone including himself, did all they could.

"Let us get him on the sledge." Ronnel says. He uses blankets to cover the boy, though he does not wrap him up too tightly! More like a swaddled babe. "Good work, Regyn and all of you, of course. come, lets get him home."

Luckily he has fairly new and warm boots and clothing, so he trudges along as best he can as others tow the sleigh. Dragging his bulk along with both Benjicoot and Regyn woiuld be a bit much to ask. Knowing there are frightful creatures like the wolves and Direwolf that killed Benjicoot's companions, does little for his mood and darkens the bit of brightness he felt at finding the boy alive.

Garlan gets the little group moving in the right direction -- and at the right speed-- but he hangs back a bit himself, as the cold, footsore, men get walking;  he lags towards the rear of the group, to keep pace with the Maester.  After a few minutes of walking, giving Ronnel a chance to, at least partially, acclimate to walking on his own in the cold mountain air, Garlan gives him a friendly pat on the back.

"You did good, Maester," the compliment puts a puff of steam in front of his smile, "The Blackwoods likely owe you their heir's life.  It was brave of you to come with us."

Ronnel smiles. "You give me too much credit, Ser. I am not brave even though I am not quite the cowards most think of me. You see, I knew that I had excellent protection and I knew none of you would rely on me to fight. I also knew you needed me alive to keep the young Lord alive. I came not for the Blackwoods, nor for a Lord. I came for a boy and I came for House Marsten. Still, your words are appreciated."