OSPREY OUTREMER... THE WELL!

In the Summer of 1063, the Norman army of Roger de Hauteville and the Sicilian Muslim alliance, under the command of Ibn al Hawas, faced each other around the mountain top town of Cerami. For the previous three years, the Norman invaders had been gradually taking an ever tighter grip on the eastern provinces of Sicily and control of Cerami, just a short ride from their stronghold of Troina, was the key to their conquest of the entire island. As the Summer sun scorched the land, both sides desperately scoured the area for sources of water to slake their thirst and their scouts encountered each other on a daily basis. Two such parties, the Normans led by Tancred de Monceaux and the Saracen Zirids by Tahir al Jasur, arrived simultaneously at a deserted farm, eager to secure the well, which stood close by the ruins of an ancient Syracusan settlement... to the victor would go a fresh and limitless water supply, to the vanquished only thirst and vexation awaited!

The abandoned farm, with its south facing enclosed farm house, lemon grove and the all important well, situated just outside the enclosure, was to be scene of a most savage conflict.

de Monceaux, with his squire, Arnalt Pomeroy, and their force of spearmen and crossbows approached the farmstead from the east...

Geoffrey the Archer, an outlaw, caught red handed, illegally hunting on Tancred's estates in Normandy and forcibly brought, as part of the Lord's retinue, to Sicily, as punishment for his despicable crimes, was sent to find cover, from which, he could launch an ambush against the Saracens.

To the west of the farmstead, the Saracens made a stealthy approach; Kabeer al Jasur, younger brother of Tahir and Ihaab Amini, with his deadly composite bow, pushed forward to take cover amongst the ancient ruins.

The Norman spearman, Roulaund Renard, renowned for his speed and agility, soon took up cover at the corner of the farmhouse.

Unfortunately for de Monceaux, Geoffrey the Archer couldn't resist bursting from cover to unleash an arrow at the approaching Kabeer and he found himself being targeted by Ihaab Amini... fortunately, the Saracen archer was not having the best of days and failed to hit his target.

Tahir and his spearmen made good use of the cover provided by the lemon grove to approach their objective and the well was soon within their reach. 

The hot-headed young Norman crossbowman, Nicolas Chameau, advanced from the cover of the beer barrels and loosed a shot at Saleem al Haq, at the far end of the enclosure. The shot failed to wound the archer but his faith temporarily abandoned him and he fled to the cover of a large wagon.

Saleem was quickly able to recover his composure and, in no time at all, he was unleashing an arrow from his powerful composite bow, back in the direction of the crossbowman.

His accurate shooting caused the first casualty of the encounter...

and the young Norman crossbowman found himself taken down by the Saracen's lethal arrow.

This phase of the encounter proved to be disastrous for the Normans, with one of their crossbowmen already taken down, the expert bowman, Munjid al Nazar, drew a deadly bead on the second, Marin Verrier...

In spite of the cover of the stone enclosure, the Saracen's arrow took Verrier down, leaving the Normans with no crossbows and only Geoffrey the Archer with the ability to strike from a distance!

Seeing their chances of securing the well disappearing under the accurate fire power of the composite bows, Turstin Herisson dashed from the cover of the barrels, determined to get to grips with the enemy spearmen. In a blaze of unstoppable violence, he took down Ashraf Hameed...

only to be instantly brought down himself by the flashing blade of the Saracen commander!

With three of their number already out of action, the heavily armoured spearman, Henri Leverret, made the fatal error of giving Munjid al Nazar the slightest opportunity of unleashing one of his dangerous arrows...

and, in the flash of an arrow, another Norman was lying wounded in the Sicilian dust.

In a final desperate throw of the dice, Roulaund Renard and the squire, Arnalt Pomeroy, hurled themselves against the line of Saracen spears and although Roulaund was able to bring down Shaheen al Akbari...

and the squire manged to hold his own against Kabeer al Jasur, Tancred, belatedly, realised that the day was lost and it was time to declare the better part of valour.

The engagement at the farm was nothing short of a disaster for the Normans but they had learned important lessons, not least to be wary of the Saracen composite bow. Tancred would retire and lick his wounds but, with the indomitable spirit of his people, he would soon be back to take revenge upon those responsible for the losses amongst his company.

THE BARONS' WAR - DREAMING OF STEAK AND ALE PIE!

This is a Tuesday morning game of Barons' War, fought across the dining room table, between a small force of Henry II's loyal northerners and a party of the Earl of Fife's Scots, foraging for much needed supplies.

The scene of the action, with the small English force emerging from a night's slumber!

Tis the year 1173 and our most gracious and beneficent liege lord, King Henry II, is beset by a sea of troubles. His troublesome brood, Henry the Young King, Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany and John, lead by their treacherous mother, Queen Eleanor, are in open and armed rebellion against their lord and master and, in the far northern vastness of his noble kingdom, that perfidious wretch, King William, the Lion of Scotland, has seized upon King Henry's familial woes to raise up his armed host and embark upon a storm of pillage and destruction.

With the season of tribulation fast approaching, both Scot and Englishman are gathering about them precious supplies to see them through the austere days and months to come. Sir Hugh de Morville, skulking in the north, following his damnable slaying of that holy and venerated paragon, Thomas Beckett, has been tasked with guarding vital supplies, gathered at the village of Kimblesworth, before being moved to safer storage with his Grace, the Bishop of Durham.

Sir Hugh de Morville, nemesis of Troublesome Priests.

However, word of these provisions has reached the noble ears of the Earl of Fife, commander of King William's forces in the area and he has despatched his trusted lieutenant, Sir Philip de Seton to drive off the English and take possession of the much needed bounty. 

The local levy bowmen prepared to face the heathen Scots, while the knights tumbled out of the farmhouse after a night of relative luxury!

The brave men of the Fyrd were tasked with keeping the cattle safe in their enclosure and out of the hungry hands of the Borderers.

The nimble Borderers had no problem dashing through the wood to confront the Fyrd.

Sir Philip and his knights, the Scottish Lowland Spearmen and the lightly armoured Levy Spearmen advanced, determinedly to acquire the plunder awaiting them in the village.

Sir Philip and the flower of Scottish chivalry!

By the end of Turn 1, the English were in the process of taking up their defensive positions and the Scots were advancing menacingly upon the southern edge of the village.

The English Levy bowmen displayed their inexperience, advancing to unleash a volley into the Lowland Spearmen, who took up a defensive stance just beyond the cover of the fence.

When you have pretty abysmal statistics, you really need to roll some pretty exceptional dice; unfortunately, the English bowmen singularly failed to do anything of the sort.

The Scots, on the other hand, with their +2 defensive modifier, did enough to enable them to pour scorn upon the feeble efforts of yonder bowmen!

To pour salt into the English wounds, the spearmen were able to take advantage of the bowmen's ill advised advance and charge into a very one sided melee.

Fortunately, the Scots proved to be equally atrocious with their dice rolling and were only able to pick off one of the English bowmen.

Meanwhile, on the right of the English defence, the Scottish Levy Spearmen launched the first of numerous assaults against the Bishop of Durham's spearmen, but were unable to make any headway against their staunch opposition. Indeed, this slogging match continued throughout the entire engagement with neither side able to make any progress against the other. 

Thanks to Scottish spearmen's inability to put their opposition to the sword, the English bowmen were able to withdraw to the cover of the farmhouse, giving Sir Hugh and his knights the opportunity to charge into the fray.

Having dashed through the wood, the Borderers hurled themselves into the paddock, subjecting the English Fyrdmen to a hail of javelins and driving them broken from the field. The Bishop of Durham's prize herd was in the hands of the enemy and someone was destined to suffer the wrath of the irate prelate.

Another shower of missiles and the Fyrd were slaughtered to a man... things were not looking good for Sir Hugh!

Having forced the Lowland Spearmen to break, Sir Hugh and his knights suddenly found themselves assailed by Sir Philip and his group of irregular knights. The climactic chapter of the battle had begun. The veteran English knights were superior in quality, but the Scots had the numeric advantage and they soon began to force the English back.

The Scottish assault was remorseless and the English knights began to fall under the barrage of blows. 

Ultimately, Sir Hugh and his one remaining knight broke under the relentless pressure and were forced to retreat from the fray.

With the English knights in retreat, Sir Philip lead his knights to secure the ultimate prize, before the wild and lawless Borderers could avail themselves of the inebriating liquor.

Victory, then, went to the Scots and it was they who would benefit from the supplies, which had been destined for the Bishop of Durham's storehouses. Sir Hugh de Morville, not for the first time, would have some serious explaining to do. The Bishop, however, was not the type of man to sit back and allow such a slight to go unpunished. The Scots would need to guard their gains adeptly as they could guarantee that the English would soon be back in action to regain their lost provisions. 

MESBG... GONDOR AND ISENGARD BRAWL FOR CONTROL OF THE DONE INN.

The Done Inn stood dilapidated and derelict, where once it had hustled and bustled, offering good food, good beer and a warm bed to weary travellers. For countless centuries, traders and wandering adventurers had emerged from the forest of Filandan to behold the welcoming façade of the ancient tavern. Now, the inn lay in ruins, ransacked and despoiled by roaming bands of Saruman's evil hordes. On this day, one such warband, lead by the Lord of Isengard’s dependable lieutenant, Lurtz, was about to discover that raiding the lands of Gondor was an enterprise that may not be undertaken with impunity.

The battlefield; the forest to the left and the Done Inn to the right, with farmland lying between the two.

Boromir and Faramir arrive at the Done Inn, ready to defend the ramshackle hostelry with their lives. Damrod and a party of bow armed Minas Tirith warriors are approaching on the far side of the inn and an Avenger Bolt Thrower awaits its crew on the balcony, overlooking the entire battlefield. The majestic banner of Gondor flies proudly before the inn, inspiring Boromir's warriors to feats of courageous valour in defence of this sacred standard.

The Uruk-Hai march through the forest... Warriors on their left, Lurtz in the centre with his Scouts and the Shaman, Sycko, on the right with Berserkers and an armoured troll. The vicious Warg in the background decided not to participate in the battle, preferring to sleep on the sofa for four hours instead.

Lurtz and his Scouts, being Woodland Creatures, burst out of the forest and head rapidly towards the hedged fields between them and the enemy. The Uruk-hai hero was hoping to draw Boromir's forces into the centre of the battlefield, where his archers could cut them down and clear the way for his flanking warbands to envelope the Gondorian line!

Boromir and Faramir lead their warbands forward from the cover of the inn, looking to form a defensive line between the farm buildings.

Meanwhile, Damrod's archers move forward and take up positions to rain down death upon the advancing Uruks. The plucky Pippin Took scurries, hobbit like, to the position of honour, defending the Gondorian banner, a task bestowed upon him personally by Boromir.

The tension mounts as the Uruk Scouts hurl themselves into the fields and advance swiftly towards the foe. However, some find themselves the objects of Lurtz's displeasure, as they flounder like bewildered idiots and fail to find a way through the hedge.

Eventually, having suffered significant casualties from the bolt thrower and the Gondorian bowmen, the Uruks manage to engage with the enemy, having successfully drawn Boromir away from his younger brother to defend the banner and prevent it falling into the evil hands of Saruman's followers.

Lurtz's cunning plan begins to unfold as the Uruk Warriors begin their advance steadily towards the Gondorian right flank. However, Faramir, Captain of Gondor and his valiant rangers, even though they are vastly outnumbered, line the opposite hedgerow and begin to unleash a constant hail of arrows in an attempt to halt the remorseless advance of the enemy.

The Uruk hoard is made to pay for every step of their advance by the withering hail of fire laid down by the bolt thrower and its merciless crew of engineers.

With the Uruk Scouts arriving piecemeal into the action by the Pigsty, it begins to look as though Gondor will gain the upper hand in this most desperate and bloody of struggles... casualties on the evil side begin to mount to dangerous levels and Lurtz's battle plan seems to be unravelling due to the valour, fortitude and deadly missile fire of Gondor.

In warfare, timing is the crucial and deciding factor. It is only now that Lurtz gives the signal for the Shaman, Sycko to begin his attack and the dreaded Berserkers and the lofty troll finally begin their advance on the Gondorian left flank.

Just at this crucial part of the battle, the Uruk warriors on the opposite flank begin to bear down upon Faramir's thin green line defending the final hedge, before they would eventually explode into the open ground beyond.

From behind the screen of swordsmen, the Uruk Scout archers are now in position to send their own hail of death dealing arrows into Boromir's desperately thin defensive line and, more importantly, to target the engineers manning the destructive bolt thrower.

As the Isengard troll pushes further around the Gondorian flank, Boromir and his few remaining warriors are, once more, forced to extend their line to counter the arrival of this gargantuan, fearsome beast...

For the handsome and brave Damrod, the arrival of Sycko and his dreadful Berserkers proves too much and his courageous action to halt the tide of Isengard reaching Pippin and the banner comes to an end in a flurry of maniacal slashing blades.

Time and time again, Boromir overcomes his fear and dread to charge into the immense mass of the troll, but neither could gain the upper hand.

All across the battlefield, outnumbered Gondor warriors bravely face the relentless advancing hordes of darkness...

until, with the defenders either slain or fleeing the field, the banner of Gondor falls into the hands of Lurtz and his Uruk horde.

The battle raged, swinging first one way and then the other, for over four hours, pausing, only fleetingly, while the commanders took a break from the slaughter, to dine on over-cooked pizza. Ultimately, victory came when the Gondorians reached that point where some of their number began to slip silently away from the battlefield and, even the stout and doughty Pippin felt compelled to abandon his position of honour as the evil minions of Sauron bore relentlessly down upon him.

The moment when Pippin begins to consider the prospect of no more second breakfasts.