Siege of Gundabad RPG

[Beserker_Warrior]

Snagar had heard of the attacks made on the goblins and orcs. He was not angered or inspired by it though. He thought of it as weakness and weakness was not acceptable. He however would not be weak or open to attack. Snagar was a good tactician and he would not let himself fall easily.

"Prepare the trenches and stakes. We will not go lightly.Set the firewalls in place outside of our stronghold, and keep the torches burning day and night. I will kill the one who lets them go out. The side of the hill that faces west is where we will post our archers. They will be providing cover fire for us as we attack. Do you understand me you maggots!" he shouted to his force of orcs.

This will be a battle that those weaklings will remember. They will not forget it because this is my land and I will take theirs after I grind them into the dust here He thought. Snagar walked over to inspect the team of orcs who was putting dried brush and oil in trenches for the firewalls. " Put you r backs into it and you might live, you maggots. Think of manflesh in your mouth, think of burned flesh, raw flesh. Make the wall a place of death." They all gave signs of agreement and kept working. Snagar walked on and inspected trenches full of stakes, walls of diagonal stakes ready to disembowel attackers, sharpened wicked looking blades, pikes bows, arrows and countless other weapons. Yes oh yes, he thought, I will make them suffer, they will wish they had never been born.

[Boromir88]

Sjorging sat in Uther's tent, but soon lost track of events going on, as his mind was overflowing with questions. I didn't come all this way to make peace with the enemy, and if both him, and the king, knew the orcs would not accept why bother making the offer? Then Sjorging began to think of the task that was to come, I guess this Uther isn't so bad. Arrogant, if you ask me, but knows a good deal about warfare, perhaps there is a chance yet....Oh who am I kidding....we have 70 men, if that, and we are expected to storm up a mountain? Not to mention, the orcs are fighting for their homes, as well as their very existance.

Sjorging tried to shake the threat of what appeared to be inevitable doom....We might as well go down trying. There's no sense in running, if we run, they'll be right on our heals. We got the orcs backed up and dug in, if we retreat, and give them a chance to rebuild, who knows what will happen. Sjorging sighed, looks bad both ways.

Then a loud, but appeared rather childish cry, rang through the camp "ASSAULT! ASSAULT!" Every person in camp sprung into the tent and grabbed their weapons. Sjorging ran out of the tent with Uther, and the other commanders, swords drawn. Uther looked frantically around, the whole camp was in an uproar, everyone running this way and that. Uther was furious, there was no sign of an attack, yet some fool cried out the words, determined to get control of his men, and find out who shouted out the orders Uther bellowed "STOP! STOP! Who gave the orders?" Everyone in the camp ceased, and looked at Uther, who's face was flooded with red. "Assault! Assault!" cried a man, who hadn't heeded Uther's commands. Low and behold, it was Ingemar.

Ingemar looked wildly around, everyone was looking at him, the noises, and the clanking of armor had stopped, everything was quiet. He was totally confused, as he turned he saw a man in bright shining armor, followed by a few other tall broad men coming towards him. What's going on? he wondered.....

[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.

[Firefoot]

Adranel hurried over to the site of the commotion. It was a pleasant break after the monotony of her day, even the shout was “assault!”. By now, Adranel had come to recognize the voice of Ingemar, and she did not take the threat seriously, though many of the soldiers around her were. As she drew nearer, pushing her way through the ranks of confused Gondorians, the scene that had unfolded confirmed her suspicions: the mass disorder had once again been caused by a confused Ingemar. A red-faced Uther was issuing commands and sending bewildered troops back to their tents. There was some grumbling about the disturbance, but Adranel supposed the whole episode would soon be forgotten.

Already a new rumor was spreading through the camp that Gundabad would be attacked tomorrow. Adranel questioned the veracity of such a statement, but supposed it would be confirmed or negated soon. The soldiers seemed hopeful about such a prospect - Adranel reasoned that it could only be grounded in the confidence of their commander, for they were far outnumbered, and had the disadvantage of being far away from home, in cold weather, and on the offensive side besides. She realized that if she were to die tomorrow in the attack, which seemed likely enough, then there was something she needed to do. Not because she wanted to, but so that her mind would rest easy.

Quickly, she looked around but didn’t find who she was looking for, so she headed back to the small encampment she still shared with Sjorging and his companions. Adranel was frustrated to find that he was not there either; the tent was deserted. He can’t have gone far... she tried to convince herself, and set off in a randomly selected direction. It was only by chance that she found him at all.

“Beluf!” she called, hurrying toward him. He waited for her, his features betraying nothing of his emotions. “I need to talk to you.” He nodded as she fell into step beside him, but did not say anything. Adranel raked her hand through her knotted hair and as she contemplated where to begin she realized how long it had been since she had brushed it. She smiled inwardly at the thought and how misplaced it was in the current situation. “Beluf...” she began, and stopped again with a sigh. She hadn’t thought that this would be so hard. “I realize that I’ve been, ah, rather rude to you these past couple days,” she said slowly, and then picked up her pace until she was no longer listening to herself but simply saying what came to mind. “I know you think that I’m angry with you, but I’m really not, and I actually thought you were annoyed with me. Then you came yesterday and asked for my forgiveness, even though I felt terrible about the way I had yelled at you. You were just curious, and I can see why, I mean I was being pretty close-mouthed about myself, and I wasn’t really mad at you. It’s just that it hurt to bring back all those memories after I had bottled them up for so long and I was really just mad at the Orcs for... everything they did. So when you ask my forgiveness, I feel it’s really me who needs forgiveness and you just seemed, well, nicer to me than I ever was to you. So I thought that it would be better for both of us if I just kept you out of my troubles since I had nothing to offer you. So I’m sorry, Beluf - I know that I’m just making things worse for all of us and I hope you understand that I just had to tell you this now that I heard the battle will take place tomorrow-”

“Yes. Sjorging told me, before,” interrupted Beluf. It was the only time; he just heard her out mutely.

“So with the size of our force and the size of the Orkish forces I don’t see how any of us are going to survive the day,” she continued, and her voice began to grow hollow. “I am not afraid to die. I think it might be a welcome relief after living these past few days, but first I just had to make things right with you.” Adranel gave a shuddering sigh of relief at having said her mind and let go of the stress which had been building up. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. She had always hated apologizing and explaining herself, and this had been much harder than usual.

Beluf still said nothing, as if processing her words, and Adranel hastened to add, “I know I’ve made this hard on you, but despite what it seems I really am grateful to you for being so understanding. So Beluf, yes, I will forgive you, though I do not see much to forgive, and ask instead that you would forgive me. I need my conscience clear.” She could go on no longer, and could do nothing but wait for his reply.

[CaptainofDespair]

All was silent...

The chirps of the birds, the singing of the wind in the trees, and the heavy breathes of the earth, were all still, almost dead. It was as if nature was sparing a moment of silence, a moment for those souls that would perish on the battlements of the mountain. It was the calm before the storm.

Then, as if to break the silence out of spite, an orc horn blew in the distance, from Gundabad. The orc leadership was mustering all the available forces, and preparing last minute checks on the battlements. As this was occurring, a troop of orcs moved into a position that would obstruct enemy access to the main gate. Various obscenities were being screamed, in both Westron and Black Speech. The orc commanders were hoping to ‘inspire’ their grunts, and obtain a quick, and easy victory.

Meanwhile, across the field, the Gondorian camp was alight with activity. Various squads moved about, preparing to march forward, to face the orc threat. The small contingent of cavalry was preparing to ride out, and perform a sweep operation, to flush out a potential ambush. The officers, and the Northmen were all concentrating on last minute procedure and equipment checks, or executing various other duties.

Uther sat alone, having confined himself to his tent, until the column would be ready to move out. With him however, were his prized wolf-hounds, Ithil and Anor. They groaned lazily, knowing full well what was about to happen. They had been on previous campaigns with their master, and had seen some combat. Though, they were mostly along for moral support. “Yes boys, it’s about time,” Uther chimed. Both of the dogs yawned, and stretched out across the bear-skin rug they had made into their home. But as Uther was about to reach down to pet them, a sergeant pulled back a tent flap, and stuck his head in. “Milord, the column is assembled. We await your orders.” Uther nodded, adding “ Thank you, sergeant. I will be out shortly to address the soldiers.” As the veteran commander watched the man leave, he grabbed his helmet, and placing it upon his head, smiled to his pets.

At the same time as Uther was leaving his tent, the cavalry detachment returned, bearing good news. The sergeant in charge was quick to find his commander in the makeshift stables, who was mounting his warhorse. “Milord, we completed the search. We found two platoons of orcs in the trees, and routed them as quickly as possible, and forced them away from the intended field of battle.” Uther looked down at his underling, as he seated himself on his steed. “Excellent. Now prepare to ride out into battle,” the lieutenant replied, with a slight smirk.

The column was assembled at the gate, with the cavalry having taken the lead. Uther rode up ahead, and stopped, turning his horse around to face his men. He let a short silence seep through the ranks, until he felt it appropriate to speak. The hot breathe of his men could be seen rising from the cluster, swirling into the air, until it evaporated, overtaken by the cold. “We stand on the edge of destruction. The battle is unavoidable, now, and thus we must fight. We are outnumbered, but that will not decide the outcome. No, our courage and honor will!” The soldiers clashed their shields and swords together, in a unanimous vote of confidence. Then the aged commander spoke again. “Our enemies, the orcs, think they are better than us, but they are mistaken. They hold out, believing their numbers will give them victory. But death will be their only reward. I think it would be polite to help them along!” At this, the men cheered again, thrusting their weapons into the air. “Now, we go to battle. But fight not for Gondor, or for the King, but for yourselves. This is your hour, relish it, and be victorious!” One last hurrah came from the column, and then it began the march out onto the field, to face the orcs.

[Boromir88]

A wide smile came upon Beluf's face. That was the happiest Adranel had ever seen him, in her short while of travelling with him. He didn't need to say anything, she knew he had forgiven her.

"Well we better try to get sleep before the night is over." He said, smiling.

Adranel nodded and they headed back towards their small tent where Sjorging and Gelding were talking. Sjorging was holding up the armour Uther had given the people of Dale. "Well if we are going to fight together, I suppose we all should wear the same apparel." Sjorging studied the armour, still wary about whether he was going to put it on tomorrow or not.

Gelding spotted Beluf and Adranel heading towards them, "Glad you have come to join us tonight. It will be hard enough to find sleep tonight, so I suggest we get an early start on it." They all agreed, that it was getting late and it would be a restless night. Gelding and Sjorging slept inside the tent, but this night Beluf slept outside to accompany Adranel.

"I hope we get to see eachother after tomorrow, if not..." he stopped and sat up, peering across the small fire, and noticed she was already sound asleep. Beluf chuckled, wondering how she went to sleep so easily, she must have not gotten a lot in the last couple days. Beluf slowly began to drift off into a wakeless slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before long it was morning again, and the camp was up and bustling. The orders were given out to suit up, and form out as soon as possible. Sjorging had decided it was best to put on the gondorian armour, so the whole army would appear unified. Gelding picked up his shield, and stood next to his long time friend. Beluf and Adranel stood opposite of them, awaiting the command.

"It's time, everyone else is heading toward the field." Sjorging said. They all nodded and made their way to the spot where they would await Uther. Sjorging put his arm on Gelding's soldier, "We have drawn swords together many times in the past, let this be the last time." Gelding embraced Sjorging and appeared as if he was about to cry. Then to both Beluf's, and Adranel's surprise, Sjorging turned to them, "It was an honor to meet the both of you."

The orders to form up were given, Sjorging and Gelding made sure they pushed their way to the front line, so they could get first taste of the action. Soon Beluf and Adranel appeared behind them.

A few minutes later Uther came riding up to the front of the column.
“We stand on the edge of destruction. The battle in unavoidable, now, and thus we must fight. We are outnumbered, but that will not decide the outcome. No, our courage and honor will! Our enemies, the orcs, think they are better than us, but they are mistaken. They hold out, believing their numbers will give them victory. But death will be their only reward. I think it would be polite to help them along!” At this, the men cheered again, thrusting their weapons into the air. “Now, we go to battle. But fight not for Gondor, or for the King, but for yourselves. This is your hour, relish it, and be victorious!”
Gelding soon found himself cheering with the rest of them, and at those final words, the march began, the host was heading to Gundabad.

[Novnarwen]

Ingemar

And there he stood, Ingemar, the man of Dale, the shabby looking man, who really had what we can call ‘wild look’ in his eyes, a look of a mad man, whose boots were well worn, and whose clothes were even more so. Yes, there he stood, with his beard half grown, stiff with cold, his face expressionless. His figure did not reflect anything, happiness or sadness, even though he was wearing one of those fine silvery armours that he certainly had a genuine love for. The armour consisted of three parts, four if one counted the sword; A helmet, which had nicely been placed on his head. He, however, did not know why it was there, and he could definitely not remember how it had been placed there. He only knew that it was heavy. The armour he bore, the parts which covered his chest and his back, felt light, but it was still a burden to move. He felt stiff and it was impossible for him to avoid the great sensation of claustrophobia. A sword, stuck in its sheath, hung from his belt. He'd tried waving with it, but had been told not to. "Wait until we are there," he had been told by another. So, reluctantly he'd stopped. Now, Ingemar stood restlessly alone in a crowd; yes, for he talked to no one and no one talked to him. Soon being told to form columns, he raised an eyebrow. Columns? he wondered, how? As quickly as the order had been given, men were surrounding him, even closer than before; they were standing next to him on both sides, in front of him and behind him. Ingemar let his gaze wander, watching how quickly long rows were being formed. What are they doing? He sniggered, and broke soon into a great laughter.

"Will you be quiet?" The man next to him started, looking rather viciously at Ingemar. "Do you honestly think this is funny, old man!?! We're going to battle. I have a wife and a son, who are probably never going to see their husband and father again! Do you understand me! We're going to die!"

Old man? Ingemar thought to himself, half-way listening to how the man continued with his rambling. Old? Old? "Nooo, noo, noo. Me," he said pointing at himself, "me, booooy."

"What did you say?"

"Bbbbooooy," Ingemar stammered.

"Are you mocking me?!?" the man started again, his eyes wide. He stepped closer to Ingemar, breaking his own line. His mouth twitched; he seemed to have been highly disturbed by Ingemar's words, innocent as they were. "It's true, I have a son!"

Ingemar sniggered; he did not understand. Who was this man? What was he talking about? All his ramblings had made him confused, and the stranger's words were roaming around in his head. They were without meaning and purpose to him. A bit frightened about the man's sudden movement towards him, he took a step back, still having a broad smile on his face though. How could this man mistake him for being and old man? Old men were . . . old. . . like the stranger, who had a silvery beard. Not like . . . him? With a brusque movement, suddenly remembering something, he raised his hand up to his face. He felt the soft hair of his beard on his fingertips and realised that he, too, had a beard!

"Well?" The man, who stood motionless and watched this odd creature touch his beard, asked, probably uneasy about seeing the development of their conversation. "Do you not own me an apology?"

Ingemar did not listen. He was in deep thought. How had this happened to him? Was he wrong when he said that only old men had beards? Was he a boy nevertheless? Rather confused, Ingemar did not answer the man's question, which was still floating in thin air. Instead, he only watched the stranger being surprised by not being given a reply and as the columns started to march, the man walked away, growling at him. Ingemar was left behind, as if having forgotten how to walk, hearing the man muttering a few words as he went;" Some men deserve to die more than others..."

[Firefoot]

This day, Adranel did not march alone. It was rather pleasant, actually, though neither she nor Beluf said very much. For herself, Adranel could not help but dwell on Uther’s speech. If confidence, hope, and heart could win a battle, then these men could win easily. She had peace with herself, with the people around her, and with her loss, but hope? Never had she had hope in the success of this endeavor. Perhaps the defeat would be quick and total, and then the men would not feel the crushing despair when they realized the battle could not be won. This was all she hoped for.

All too soon, and yet not soon enough, the column arrived at the field of battle. Even Adranel, who knew little of battle, could see why the spot had been chosen. For one thing, the landscape was just right so that the Orcs would have a hard time flanking the small force. Their immense numbers would not be so great of an advantage where they could not spread out. Also, it provided for a retreat - no matter how confident, a commander would be utterly foolish not to provide some way out in case of disaster.

A horn, surprisingly close, blew a single, harsh note. The Orcs were coming, marching from the impregnable forces of Gundabad. Soon their cries could be heard, sounding especially harsh in the clear morning sun and not made less foul for not understanding the language. Soon they marched into view, seemingly in endless ranks. There was no chance... they were even more than Adranel had expected. Adranel, however, only saw the numbers, and understood little of battle tactics. She did not know it, but there was a way in which their small force could succeed, and that this was the plan Uther was to put into action.

For a moment, all was still. The Gondorians stood at one end of the field, weapons drawn and awaiting the command. The Orcs were at the other end, prepared for a slaughter. Soon, it would all begin, and end, both at the exact same instant. She leaned over a little bit and whispered, “Beluf... thank you. For everything.” He smiled at her to show he understood, but did not have the chance to reply, for in that moment Uther cried out to his troops, “For victory!”

“For victory!” came the resounding cry, and then nothing was still any longer. Both forces began to charge at each other, and Beluf was lost to her sight. Sounds of battle filled the air: metal on metal, pounding hoofbeats, the cries of men lost in the lust of battle. Adranel smiled grimly. The Orcs would do as they would; they could take everything from her, even her very life, but that was all. She felt in herself the ability to enjoy life again, to hope, and, yes, even to love. The Orcs may take her life, but they would pay dearly. She would not go down without a fight. She selected an arrow and nocked it to her bow, carefully drawing. She was toward the back of the Gondorians, and so she aimed high, hoping to hit in the midst of the Orcs. Twang!

“For victory,” she murmured.