The Battle of Smithfield-- A D&D Campaign report

     The War begins!  As our intrepid adventurers (Drusus, Flinten, Morgan, Eldora, Doreen, Jhuban, Elesar, Ronson, and Shayla) sailed swiftly along the western coast of Aramanthis, the All Mother's forces were not idle.  While the King's nobles desperately attempted to gather forces to stem the tide of the growing invasion of allied humanoids, the lightly guarded capital was sacked and burned.  Refugees fleeing down the river brought word of the disaster to our heroes.  A disaster they foresaw, but were powerless to stop.  Too many decades of complacency having taken their toll on the kingdom.

   Lord Terren, the noble on whose ship the heroes were embarked, chose (wisely) to set his force ashore at the nearest river trade station rather than attempt to sail to the relief of the capital, whose burning edifice left a dark smear on the horizon. The party disembarked along with the portion of Lord Terren's army that was immediately available to sail.  The rest would be following in a day on the slower barges.

   As they arrived at the town of Smithfield, the town's mayor greeted them with relief.  The citizens had already turned out the militia as well as gathered the funds to hire a troop of dwarven mercenaries for the defense.  As afternoon wore on to evening the party set to organizing the defenses of the town.  Lord Terren, knowing his own limitations as more an administrator than a warrior, took to organizing the citizens in case evacuation became necessary and turned the military aspect of the defense over to the experienced party members led by Sir Ronson.

The momentarily peaceful town of Smithfield.  Who knows what horrors await it?

Training Sim 011914 -- an ACTA Battle Report

          So, as readers may have surmised we've been on a bit of a Star Fleet Universe kick around my game room of late.  The last two battle reports have been involved stories.  For those that prefer a simple tactical layout I'll go with a straight forward battle report this time, after all we opted this time for a straight up fight of 2000 pt Klingon and federation fleets.  We did include a couple of homemade units (D6D and D5WD).

First, the fleets.  The Federation fleet opted for a solid gunline task force with a few escorts to cover their tails.  The fleet consisted of:

BB Kali

DNF Concordat

BCF Bismark

BCF Gneisenau

NCC Kearsearge

NCA Lexington

CLE Bosnia

DWA Alert

DWA Buckler

The Klingons brought a mixed fleet of small and large hulls.  It consisted of 

1 C10

2 D6

2 D5W

1 D5WD

1 D5E

2 F6

1 F5W

1 E5

Hegh maH vaj chaq, qatlh yIn wo'.

Hegh maH vaj chaq, qatlh yIn wo'.

      (We Die so the Empire May Live)

“I know that your last space battle was a close one. You’ve survived four months on a very active front line.  Kzinti die stubbornly.  Let’s toast our victories on the front! Grab your glass of blood wine.” He knew the Captain enjoyed blood wine.  “You, Bogotha,” he continued, “…are responsible for so much that we’ve accomplished out here deep in Kzinti space. Your heroic actions held the front line. You expand the Empire, my friend.  A toast then to you and your fine crew aboard the command ship Desecration. Drink heartily!”  

Captain Targ took one long pull, sat motionless, and eyed his Admiral with iciness.  There was no way around making this any easier.  Captain Targ and his crew hadn’t been rotated home in over a year. His wife bore their first child not long after he arrived on the front. Captain Targ was longing to see the little brute himself.   And now he was about to ask his longest surviving captain in his command -order him- to do one more thing for the Empire, before being rotated home. He needed Captain Bogotha Targ for a desperate, dangerous gamble. 

Lord Grafihl sat on the flag bridge of a Kzinti command battlecruiser hidden along the seemingly never-ending edge of the Poldar Asteroid Field. At his age, and size, he eschewed the usual space suits normally authorized on warships.  Social position had its privileges. 

 The Communications Officer turned to the ship’s Captain, and they spoke, then the Captain decided to visit his Lord in person to talk about the matter. He exited the turbo-lift and walked the short hallway past the guards to the Lord’s flag bridge. It’s more like a penthouse chamber, he mused.  The door slid open and he entered.  In the hisses, clicks, and growls of the feline tongue he addressed his lord, “We’ve intercepted a coded source communication from the opposite side of the field.” 

Lord Grafihl glared at him and asked, “Not ours, is it?” 

“No. Definitely not.” The Fat Cat’s Captain answered slowly. The ship was named after its master, he conceded.

“Investigate.  Take us cautiously to its source of origin. Bring our entire squadron. Keep emissions in check and do not use the warp drive.” 

“Yes, my Lord.” And the Captain returned to his bridge.

The five ships of the protecting response squadron extricated themselves carefully from an outer shell of asteroids, following the BCC Fat Cat along the girth of the irregular border of the immense field of free floating rock. Time passed and they found nothing on the other side.  Empty space extended beyond the rolling rocks of the field.

“Hide us in a patch of asteroids near the source,” Lord Grafihl commanded. The five ships snuggled cautiously into a blanket of asteroids, hidden from view for all practical purposes, invisible even to the sensors and scanners of modern starships. Lord Grafihl and his squadron was eventually awestruck when a Klingon fleet of eleven warships broke high warp dangerously close alongside the perimeter of the asteroids, cautiously entering the Poldar Field where the beacon originated.