Siege of Gundabad RPG

[CaptainofDespair]

The camp had been in utter chaos, with soldiers bustling about, trying to discover where their enemy was attacking from. The sentries, that were posted at the main entrance to the camp, had not seen, or least noticed, any orcs moving about. After a few rather tense moments, nearly all realized it had been a false alarm. Most of the soldiers, however aggravated, would have rather had sleep, and thus they returned to their ramshackle abodes. But a few lingered about, mainly sentries. Some of the soldiers, however, stayed out in the cold air, to view the ‘festivities’ that they thought would occur momentarily. The man Ingemar, who was obviously not of sound mind, stared at the men that had encircled him, utterly puzzled at what he had done wrong.

A few of the sergeants, who knew what sort of action Uther was capable of, either through personal experience, or just mere rumors, took it upon themselves to circumvent the rage their commander was obviously feeling. After a bit of hesitant thought, a few of them rushed towards Ingemar, placing themselves between both Uther and Ingemar, and Ingemar and the soldiers. One of them, Mordred, began waving his arms, and pointing at the makeshift hovels the soldiers had constructed, while shouting “Back to the tents with ya!” The rest, formed a shell around Ingemar, as if to protect him, and carted him off into the night, to place him in guarded custody, for his own safety. They would worry about the wares he had commandeered later. Uther just stood there, his face bright red, as if he were about to erupt. Within a few moments, the camp had quieted down, with only a dull murmur coming from the sentries. The sergeants had returned to their own quarters, leaving two sentries outside of a tent which held Ingemar. Uther, still a bit frustrated and angry, huffed and puffed back to his tent. Upon entering, the whole of the camp, and possibly the Gundabad orcs, heard a vehement scream, after which, all was deathly silent.

The night continued to crawl on, at an unusually slow pace. Uther sat in his makeshift, stump-of-a-chair, whittling at a branch he had ripped from a small tree. Though he was still fuming, the bright red coloration that had appeared in his face before, was gone. The twig of a branch he had been carving his knife into, was now just a thin strip of plant sinew, dangling from his clenched fist. His eyes slowly scanned the plant fibers, as if entranced by them. But the enchantment soon wore off, and he flung the paltry twig from his hand. Anor groaned, as if to tell him something. “Yes, I do need to get some rest”, he replied.