Le Chanson de Bob - Chapter IV

Many months have passed
Since last we sang
Of Robert Eponge
And his cheesy Breton knights

And in that long time
The people of Brittany have celebrated
A lot
With feasting,
Substantial cheese consumption
And an excess of wine,
Curious liqueurs,
Pommeau,
Calvados,
Crème de coing,
And even the nasty stuff that people in this part of the world call beer

So much so
That the hangover of the Bretons
Lasted even longer than the celebrations.

But a few of those
Who survived the party
Recalled the exploits of their hero
Robert Eponge
And the battle they won
Which is scribed here by our skald
Basculf the Unwashed
Recalling the tale
As best as anyone can remember
Filling in gaps in memory
With suitably apocryphal embellishment

So
It was on an open field
On the borders of Brittany
That a force of brave and particularly hairy Vikings
(Not for the first time)
And their Warlord
Einar Jonatansson
(That's right, the other one with the saga written in this blog)
Were met by Robert's brave Bretons

Einar Jonatansson
Unlike certain other leaders of hairy Viking factions
(see Chapter II)
Was very much not unready
Although he did make it clear he wasn't particularly happy about the openness of the terrain, the fact that he was facing Bretons, and various other matters, while his skald took notes, just in case.

The fearless Bretons, however
Might in this case themselves have been considered unready
For they were unfamiliar with recent changes
That had been made to the code of battle
The message evidently failing to reach them
(Or more likely they had not read their email or looked at Facebook recently)

And hence
Their order of battle proved particularly poorly thought out
Fielding one very large unit of knights
That after deployment realised they had left their War Banner at home

"Bum!"
Thought Robert Eponge
"Ha!"
Taunted Einar Jonatansson
"Ha!"
Jeered the hairy Viking horde
"Ha!"
Wrote Einar Jonatansson's skald
"S***"
Thought the banner bearer
Who understood that someone
Was in for a good slapping
(Probably him)
And would have said
"It's not my fault!"
But for the fact that
It was

The hairy Vikings charged
The Bretons fled, shooting
The hairy, sweating Vikings charged again
The Bretons scattered, shooting
The hairy, sweating, tired Vikings charged once more
But the Bretons would not be caught
And shot them again
And again

Thus
Though war-banner-less
The speed of the Breton horsemen
Aided by the openness of the battlefield
Combined with their use of the incredibly cheesy In All Directions ability
Meant the Vikings
Hairy, sweating and slow
Could not catch them

Jeer as they might
They were slowly
(Slower than if the Bretons had brought their War Banner, at least)
Picked off by relentless Breton javelins

Eventually
The Vikings
Hairy
Sweaty
Tired
And incredibly frustrated with this most irritating enemy
(Though not by any means disgraced)
Were considered defeated

The Viking skald was politely informed of precisely what would happen to him if he wrote about this in the Saga of Einar Jonatansson
And the Vikings called it a day and went home

As said above
With his final victory
There was much rejoicing in the land
King Bob was proclaimed
The greatest of all Warlords
And the Bretons
Were declared
The cheesiest
Of all factions
And
(Excepting House Rules and/or changes in the official FAQ)
The least likely to be invited to take part in future campaigns

Thus
At last
Our saga comes to an end

Thanks be to God

Although...

There is some talk
Of Robert Eponge
And his Breton knights
Turning up at a tournament somewhere
So as to demonstrate to the world
The power of Breton cheese

Well, you never know…

The Saga of Einar Jonatansson - Chapter 2.

Moving south from the lands of the Norse Gael we entered the territory of an Irish chieftain called Finn Mac Blatha. For two days we continued south looting and burning Irish hamlets for little reward beyond a couple of red haired beauties captured and given over to my warriors for sport.

Toward mid-day of the third day our path was blocked by an Irish warband led by Finn Mac Blatha himself and intent on doing us harm.

The ground was open except for a small bog on our left rear and a large field of winter barley on the Irish left rear. I thought Mac Blatha had chosen poor ground to make his stand against me and I smiled.

Mac Blatha deployed his warband behind a thin screen of levy archers. On his far left were two units of eight warriors deployed one behind the other with their flank secured on the cropfield. In the centre stood Mac Blatha supported by two champions with six Hearthguard immediately to his right. Out on his right wing was another unit of eight warriors. I saw none of the much vaunted war dogs the Irish peasants had boasted of!

I deployed my shieldwall opposite the Irish centre with eight warriors on the left and two units of six Hearthguard on the right. I stood with the berserkers behind the shieldwall. My archers were placed further out on my right opposite the left wing of the Irish.

Mac Blatha spoke to his warriors calling them to red war against us and I saw him bestow an arm rings on one of his Hearthguard.

Not to be outdone I in turn awarded an arm ring to the leader of the Hearthguard unit that formed the right of my shieldwall. My men banged weapons on shields and screamed their war cries at the enemy.

The Irish moved first and ordered their archers forward to shoot us. I called to Odin for protection and he answered with a sudden mist that hid us from view. One of the enemy champions moved to support the warriors on the Irish left.

From the start there was Irish magic at work and for much of the fight the enemy levy were obscured by a mist that prevented my archers from shooting them. Fortunately, the Irish chieftain had made a mistake and my archers had sight on one of the warrior units deployed beyond their levy screen. By personal command I pushed my archers forward and further right before unleashing two volleys on the exposed enemy warriors and killing two.

Stung by the archery Mac Blatha ordered the remaining six warriors forward and hurled javelins at my levy but Asgard protected them from harm. The enemy warriors remained unbowed and launched themselves into melee with my archers. For the loss of two of their own my doughty archers killed two enemies and pushed them back. The Irish champion moved further forward in support of the warriors.

Invoking Ragnarok my archers shot down one more Irish warrior before I sent my right hand Hearthguard charging across the field and into the remaining three warriors. Two enemies fell for no loss and the Hearthguard continued the attack into the Irish champion. My men were tired but their leader dedicated his arm ring to Thor who answered by refreshing them with renewed vitality. The Irish champion fell in a welter of axe, sword and spear blows while my brothers remained unharmed. Loki snatched the last Irish warrior screaming from this world!

Mac Blatha was not done yet and after shooting down four of my archers with his levy sent the second warrior unit on his left forward against my triumphant Hearthguard killing one with javelins.

In response my Hearthguard attacked the warriors and after a hard fight that cost us three brave men slaughtered all the enemy warriors.

I pushed forward with my shieldwall and Berserkers.

At this moment the Gods deserted us and three of my Hearthguard fell to Irish archery. The battle hung in the balance.

The red mist descended as I lead my three Hearthguard in a final charge against the enemy archers calling on Frigg, Ullr and Thor we chopped down most of the enemy for no loss and the Irish abandoned the field to us. Thanks be to Odin.

The Saga of Einar Jonatansson - Chapter I

With the coming of the thaw my warriors grew restless for the vik.

I led them across the whale road to Ireland, the land of bog dwellers and little kings.

We landed in the north where the Norse Gael dwells. The race is a sorry dilution of noble Nordic blood with bastardised bog trotter.

In the early dawn we moved inland and found an abandoned longhouse with heart embers still glowing red. I sent my archers into the building and had them cut arrow loops in the walls while my hearthguards and warriors formed a shield wall outside.  To our left front loomed the only high ground in the area and opposite the longhouse on the other side of the clearing was a small wood, wreathed in an early morning mist that hung heavy across the land.

It wasn’t long before shadowy figures could be glimpsed in the misty half -light of dawn moving in the wood and to our front. Our visitors seemed nervous and over cautious.

I sent the warriors forward to tempt them in and ordered the archers out in support. Two groups of Norse Gael hearthguard appeared from the mist brandishing their dane axes and cursing us to the gods.

The archers shot two of the enemy down, forcing them to retire like whipped dogs.

My warriors moved bravely toward the wood and revealed enemy warriors also wielding dane axes. Our archers quickly send one of them to hell.

Finally the enemy found his courage and their warriors launched themselves at my warriors. Two of my brave lads met the axes of the enemy in personal challenge and went straight to Valhalla. 
Overwhelmed by the fierceness of the attack another five of my men fell to the deadly axes but took four of the enemy with them in red death.

My surviving warrior fell back as the archers shot down the last three enemy warriors and my shield wall advanced on the enemy.

The bloodletting seemed to have cowed the enemy who hung back from the fight again. The archers went forward and killed three more of their hearthguard with well-aimed shafts.

This proved too much for the Gaels who ran off into the mist.

A search of the longhouse rewarded us with hidden silver and an arm ring.

Hear my song of red war and tremble.