It's All a Matter of Simple Tactics

Phandalin woke the next morning a brutal and bloody mess. The orcs had been thorough in their attack, killing everything in sight. Men, women, children, and even livestock was brutally savaged in the attack. Their corpses littered the street, a few with blankets tossed over their bodies to hide the gory displays. The dirt roads of Phandalin had been churned into a mess of red-brown mud. Heavy padded footprints pucker the muddy streets and the detritus from the evening raid is pressed into the caked and drying mud like a fossilized crustaceans on the long-dead oceans of the east. A crushed basket, a broken vase, a small doll; all memories of the carnage wrecked only hours before. The remaining soldiers of the Lords' Alliance contingent had erected a massive pyre and were working with Sister Garaele, the only woman of faith left within Phandalin, had been enlisted at the behest of Torgard Seafist to conduct the more non-secular portions of the rites. The corpses of the fallen villagers and the soldiers were all put to rest; coins on their eyes, sacred oils on their lips, and in sight of a small crowd gathering to pay their respects. The corpses of the orcs had been removed from the town on a wagon supplied by Elmar Barthen and were hauled south of the town. They were tossed into a nearby gorge to rot among the dark filth that lurked below. Some had insisted they be burned but Torgad refused as he insisted that the foul beasts didn't even deserve the cleansing end of the flame.

Harbin Wester, the Townmaster of Phandalin, had not fared so well in the attack. In an series of unfortunate events, the Townmaster had found himself directly in the path of the initial onslaught of the orc bloodlust. Staving their blades, they had ripped the obese man to pieces on the front steps of the Townhall. Their rampage had carried out into the town and claimed the lives of many more. Linene Graywind and Qelline Alderleaf were both found dead in their homes. Daran Edermath was severly wounded in his defense of the Stonehill's youngest boy, Pip. The old adventurer bought the boy critical time to escape and managed to kill two of the orcs himself before taking an ax strike to the back. Dozens others were dead or wounded with a few even missing. It was a dark day for Phandalin and not one the small fledgling town would soon forget.

Torgard Seafist had installed himself as the Lord Militant of the town in the wake of Harbin Wester's sudden death. The Townhall which had been little more than a second home for the former Townmaster had rapidly been converted to a command center. Large tables were moved into the center of the room and various maps of the region were scattered across the table with small marble markers positioned on various key locations across the board. A small red knight on a horse was positioned over Phandalin with a dozen or so more on the capital of Neverwinter. To the north, a few black totem-like skulls were positioned on various mountains and alongside rivers. Upon closer inspection each of the totems were actually different. Small variations in color, markings, and insignia had been annotated on the orcish skulls. Torgad stood at the far end of the table with his arms folded behind his back. Her surveyed the table with a scrutiny akin to a seasoned veteran and listened as various scriveners, aides, and squires jabbered different reports to him about their provisions, troop movements, reparations, and a variety of other topics. A few other soldiers, a junior officer and two sergeants clustered around the table as well and debated which of the markers they would move from Neverwinter to Phandalin.

The Townhall seemed small when Sildar and the others arrived. Meraki heaved the massive wooden doors open and the group swaggered in, all disheveled and bloody from the night before. The room fell silent and a few of the aides began to whisper to one another as the group moved up towards the table. The stern look on Torgad's face fell away and was replaced with a large smile as Sildar moved into the room. His old eyes seemed to light up as he studied the maps and rapidly consumed all of the information like a hungry urchin gobbling up a bowl of hot stew. He looked as if he was going to say something but stopped himself, turning instead to a stack of provisions in crates along the wall. Two scriveners yelped as he pushed passed them and genuflected to the old man.
"Get up," Sildar scoffed as he delivered a swift kick to the young man.
"Forgive me Grandmaster, I mean no disrespect," he said.
"I'm not your fuggin' Grandmaster. Move off," Sildar grunted as he heaved off the lid to the crate and rummaged around. He pulled out a dark bottle of some unknown liquor and quickly bit the cap off. He settled down on a nearby crate and took a long drought from the bottle, closing his eyes in a moment of serene contemplation. He belched and then looked around at the room.
"There any girls in here?" he said.
"No," said Torgad sternly. Sildar shrugged. Kaeru and Mazekk moved up to the table to study the display while Meraki and Nipper helped themselves to a small arrangement of meats and cheeses on another table. Yarrik and Olo found two massive wooden chairs alongside the table with the warlock kicking his feet up on the table. Aethulian, a little sullen from the night before, sat at the far end of his room and nursed his wounds. The elf had taken some heavy hits during the initial orc ambush and even the healing magics of Nipper couldn't completely restore his swollen muscles and injured pride.

Torgad stared at Sildar expectantly who seemed to be quite content enjoying his bottle of ale to himself. He cleared his throat and Sildar perked up with a feigned surprise.
"Would you care to comment?" Torgad asked. Sildar pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows as he studied the table. After a moment he sat back and shrugged. Torgad sighed and motioned for the young officer to continue his briefing.
"-yes Ser. As I was saying, losses in the town were high. Of our initial contingent, only 18 fighting men remain not including squires and accompaniments."
"Enlist the squires in the ranks until reinforcements arrive. I want bastions formed at all major junctions. We can shore up the alleyways and culverts with doors, carts, and any other wreckage we commandeer. It will be easy to make a bastion within the town and we can coordinate our attacks from here," the officer said. Sildar snorted derisively.
"Something to add?" the officer sneered.
"I'm sorry, I must have missed the Lords' Alliance Command Post and stumbled into the Emerald bloody Enclave? Is a tree nymph hiding in back to touch my cock when we're finished?" he said. A few of the scriveners winced and withered under the tirade but the officer seemed emboldened.
"Respectfully, we're employing the tactics of the Lords' Alliance. The Hakon Principles of defence-" the officer begins.
"Hakon? Do you mean Kalmon bloody Hakon?" Sildar says.
"Of course, he is one of our most revered generals and a brilliant tactician," the officer replies proudly.
"Aye, and he's dead because he was a proud idiot. He had 8,000 men and a castle and he let a bunch of reavin' bandits put his head on a spike." Sildar said. Unable to help himself he heaved himself off the crates and moved to the table.
"So what's the plan then. Hide 'ere until the Open Lord deigns to send some men. No that won't do. The damned orcs will have burned 'alf of the bloody countryside by then. Won't be nothing to defend." he said and then started fingering through the army markers atop Neverwinter and inspecting the sigils and marks on them.
"Who's commanding the Lancers now?" he said as he held up a small carved knight with a long pointed lance.
"Er...Ser Jadar Pime," the officer said quietly. Sildar scowled and tossed the figure away, letting it clatter off the table and onto the floor.
"He's a ponce," Sildar quipped. Then, seemingly content with his choice, he moved three small archers figurines, two horsemen, and one foot soldier. The officer frowned at the selection.
"You haven't got enough footmen to support your cavalry?" the officer said snidely.
"I don't need footmen," Sildar said, ignoring the man and focusing on placing the units around the table. Torgad stood back and quietly observed the exchange a wry smile on his face.
"They'll be unsupported and will rout after their first charge through the lines," the officer said and moved up two more foot soldier figurines to match those of the cavalry. Sildar growled and knocked them away.
"I don't need foot soldiers. We've got enough with this lot and some support,"
"You'll lose!" the officer pleaded.
"Will I now? How do you think a troop of foot men is going to fare, close quarters with a bloody warband of orcs? You lost nearly half your force to a raidin' party last night. There's a few more than that sittin' atop there mountain." he said. Sildar began to meticulously re-arrange the units on the table. His eyes were intensely focused on the map, darting between different geographic points, crossroads, and cities. His mouth moved soundless as he spoke to a companion which only he could see. At the end of it, there were three units of horse and six infantry. A small gilded figurine was put in reserve in Phandalin.
"There," he said with a smile. "You've got to position the lancers here to exploit their flank. Orcs don't build strongholds to be defensible they build them essentially by mistake. It's a place to store their weapons and sleep - nothing more. So don't waste your time lookin' for a weakness. The entire thing is weak." he said and started to place the black orc figurines back on a table.
"Where they get their strength is in their numbers. Whatever side we come in against them on they'll come crashing out - in force. When that happens it's all about blood and steel. No more tactics. You need to make sure you've got everything sorted before their screamers come barreling down on you.We can do that one of two ways," he said and casually flicked two polished gemstones on to the table. One at a watchtower close to the Orcish encampment and another at a ferry. Torgad moved forward, face a similar mask of concentration.
"Strategic objectives?" he asked. The crowd around the table began to swell as the other attendants and officers gathered around the table - all gaping in awe.
"Could be. More opportunities. Only way you can best a warband of orcs is through intelligence and positioning. We need to know what they're bringin' and then position our calvary to counter the horde," he said. He drove a meaty finger at the one gemstone atop of the tower.
"'There's an old watchtower here from back in the days when this shithole wasn't so much of a shithole. It'll give us a vantage on their movements." he said.
"Won't the orcs have claimed it given it's strategic importance?" quipped a younger officer. Sildar stared at him blankly.
"Has this one ever fought anything other than his blightin' cousins in the baths?" he said. "Orcs don't care for strategy. Only power - but that's a strategy unto itself. From what I've heard there's some vagrants slummin' in the place. They'll need to be cleared out." Sildar said and moved his hand to the next marker.
"-and 'ere we've got the only crossing other than the Storm Mountains bridge big enough to move your cavalry across. If we take the tower, we'll need to move troops as a pincer against the orcs. We need to break their charge before they smash into your lines and make Ser Jadar fuggin Pime shit his britches. If we break their charge with cavalry, we can turn the tides and smash the beasts back into the caves they came out of. This Ferry is the only place you can cross. Haven't heard much from it in years. Some of the traders said some kind of Water Hag had killed the boatman and was claiming souls as they tried to cross but who knows. We'll need that ferry - hag or not".
Torgad nodded and looked to his Lieutenant.
"I can muster enough men for one of the sorties. I'll need to leave a rear guard unless the orcs send skirmishers back. We will have to wait for reinforcements to press for another.
"I'm sure this lot can handle the other," Sildar said and motioned over his shoulder to the others loitering in the room. Mazekk perks up and smiles, Nipper sighs. Torgad nods to Sildar.
"Thank you," he said and bows his head respectfully to Sildar.
"Yea, yea enough of that," Sildar replies and waves dismissively. "I need a woman...and a drink. It's going to be a long night," he says with a smile. He pauses for a moment and then grabs a piece of parchment and a quill. He scribbles down some shapes and words on the paper and then tosses it to one of the Lieutenants.
"What-what...uh is it?" the man stammers.
"Formations - for the battle," Sildar said with a shrugged. "Just a matter of simple tactics really". With that he turned and walked away from the table, heaving the massive doors open to depart.

Everyone is quiet for a moment after he leaves. Yarrick coughed and motioned with a fork at the table.
"So...um...what was all that...strategizingering?" he asks. Torgad smiled and winked at Yarrick. Meraki frowned, his large black eyes staring quizzically at the Knight.
"Ah," he boomed and waggled his trunk. "You knew he couldn't resist".
"Possibly," Torgad said with smirk. "Consider it all...just a matter of simple tactics".
"Is anyone going to tell me who the hell the old man is?" Mazekk grumbled.
"That friends - is Sildar Hallwinter, the former Grandmaster of my Order before they were aligned with the Lords' Alliance." he replied. There were series of gasps from over the room as the Lieutenants and other attendants gasped.
"He is also...the Blademaster to Ulder Ravenguard of the Flaming Fists and...if I my suspicions are correct...one of the finest generals of our time". Torgad finished. Everyone was still staring at the door from where the old Knight departed.
"Fug," said Nipper.