[CaptainofDespair]

Finally, after so many long weeks of marching, the Gondorians caught sight of their objective. Looming in the distance, veiled in mist and cold rain, sat Mount Gundabad. Though they all knew it was crawling with orcs, to most, it seemed almost serene, as if there were none of those putrid and disgusting creatures hastily scuttling about the old dwarven halls, and poorly constructed ramparts that now marred the face of the mountain. For now, it was a desirable sight, to sore eyes. Those soldiers, who understood the beauty of nature, were awed by the mountain’s graceful slopes, and rocky textures. Some stopped in their tracks, in an attempt to gaze at the mountain, to forever retain the pristine image laid before them. Even the lieutenant could be seen staring upon the mount with his war-weary eyes, infatuated with the elegance that his enemy presented him with. As the marchers continued to plod on, with a seemingly renewed sense of vigor, a light snow began to fall upon them, coating the horses and men in a powdery layer of pure white. The snow now served, not to hamper, but to invigorate and rejuvenate, as the snow created a near mystical setting, as the snow continued to fall upon the branches of the trees that lined the path of the host.

But as with all things, even something as beautiful and awe-inspiring as the distant view of Gundabad, must end. As the day trickled by, much as the sands of time drain in the hourglass, the soldiers came to view what had become of the mountain they had seen. Now, the snowy forests of the previous days, were replaced by mangled and burnt remnants of what could vaguely be called trees. The life was sapped from this region, which was now devoid of life, save for those orcs that lurked near. The men hung their heads in angst, now seeing what might be their doom. Some men began to mutter in the ranks, causing the rest to despair from the other soldiers’ doom-saying. Uther ignored this, keeping his mind steadfast on his objective. As the day slowly turned to evening, the weary commander came to spot which he deemed defendable. Thus, the order of “Make Camp!” was given, and the men began the arduous process of building the palisade defenses, which were to hold until the Gondorians were ready to assault the orcs that were sprawled across the mountain.

Within the hour, the defenses were prepared, and the tents pitched. Thus, the tired soldiers sat down to their evening meal of salted pork, snow-water, hard-tack, and bacon grease, which they devoured merrily. Those were weren’t placed on sentry duty, sat around the campfires, recounting stories of their youth, and musing about the awe they had felt when they had first glimpsed Gundabad. The rants carried on throughout the evening, which seemed to keep the soldiers from thinking of what was to come in the next day. But an entirely different setting was taking place within Uther’s tent. Within the raw-hide flaps of his makeshift abode, he discussed the military strategies that would be employed, at least partially, with his sergeants, and Sjorging, whom he had given a field command and promotion to Sergeant-at-Arms of Dale. It was more honorary than anything, but it did help alleviate some of the tension that had formed between the Sjorging and the lieutenant.

“Tomorrow, we will assault the battlements. We have only enough materials for a few small siege engines, thus we will use them only at the prime targets.” At this, Sjorging piped up, wanting to be ‘part’ of the military procedure that was taking place. “What are these prime targets you speak of?” The Lieutenant, not wishing further tension, replied to the inquiry. “The targets that will be bombarded will be the main gate, the lower wall that runs across the base of the mountain, and the single tower that watches the gate. These are all wood in construction, and will be shattered easily...” But as Uther was about to finish his sentence, a soldier entered the tent, signaled by the whining of Ithil, one of the two hunting dogs the commander had brought with him. The guard was shaking incessantly, somewhat from the cold, but he managed to utter a few words. “Orcccsss....outsssiiide...meeeeetttting...” With a shaky hand, the guard then pointed out across the plain that was set before the mountain. On the field, was a contingent of orcs, though it could not be seen as to what they wanted. The commander rose from his stump-chair, and walked to the makeshift corral that housed the horses and pack mules. Without giving the situation any thought, he mounted his steed, as did a number of guards and sergeants, and rode forth from the camp.

As the riders bounced upon their horses, as they swiftly rode out to meet the orcs that had gathered in the snow, they slowly noticed that the orcs were more like the Uruks of old. At the head of the orcs, stood their commander, a larger orc, who also seemed to be either the chieftain of Gundabad, or a captain of some sort. As the party closed in, the orc leader raised his arms, signaling the Gondorian horsemen to halt. Uther and his sergeants complied, if only out of intrigue.

The chieftain then spoke in the Common Tongue, and rather fluently for an orc. “I am King of the Mountain! Why do you enter my domain?” The riders were startled by this, and some backed up, thinking an ambush might be coming. Uther spoke, whilst he dismounted, believing the chieftain would rather speak to one who might be an equal, rather than to one who would sit atop a horse. “We enter your realm on the orders of Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor. We have come to offer you an alliance.” Sjorging, who had accompanied the riders, was puzzled, thinking Uther had come to destroy, rather than make peace. The chieftain too, was puzzled. “Why does Gondor seek alliance with those of Gundabad?” Uther continued to expound upon the alliance, ‘humbling’ himself. “You are Lord of the North, are you not, Great King? Then that reason should be sufficient enough for Gondor to seek to have an ally such as you. It would do Gondor great honor if you were to accept.”The chieftain rubbed his pot-marked chin, considering his options. He turned around, to a number of the orcs that were standing around him, and muttered something in the Black Speech. After a bit of jostling amongst the orcs, the chieftain turned around yet again, and uttered his decision. “If Gondor was sending emissaries, it would not come with such a force. Methinks you are here to destroy orcs, and take the mountain for yourself.” On that, the King of the Mountain turned around, his tattered fur cloak flapping about, and with his guards, strode off back to their defenses. The Gondorians then did the same, as Uther remounted, and themselves rode back to their camp.

After the riders had returned, and dismounted, they made their way back to the lieutenant’s tent, to discuss the meeting with the orcs. After they had all sat down, each leaning somewhat inside to bask in the heat of the small fire, they began to talk. Some sergeants expressed concern over the attack, while others wanted to leave, and return in the summer with a greater force. But Uther would not be swayed. “We are here to destroy the orcs, and destroy them we shall. The alliance was only a ruse, as both the King and I knew they would not accept. Tomorrow, we assault their fortress.”