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Bregoware
The easterling cavalry was closing in, riding ever tighter around the perimeter of the refugee camp. They sent their lethal arrows one at the time, at least fifty arrows in the air simultaneosly. It was pure slaughter. The children were crying out in panic, their mothers wailing in agony. The men and the women were trying to find a shelter from the wagons, some of them trying to shoot back. Two or three of the wagons had already been lit by the flame-arrows, that a few of the easterlings used. The darkness of the night and the brightness of the flames made a stark contrast. Then there were those blood-chilling screams that came from the onfalling orc-army. It had emerged from nowhere, and was upon the people before they could come to grips with this new danger. Cwen was running towards her mother, face turned to despair, when the orc appeared from behind her, and swang its sword...
Sythric woke up, sweating, hearing his own heart bumping heavily and fast. It was quiet, and the stars shined calmly over the skies. He rubbed his forehead to ease the tension, but that didn’t seem to help. Slowly he rose up to sitting position and tried to relax. Nothing seemed to help: he was still shaking all over. Maybe it was just too little sleep or something...
As he seemed not to be able to get those images out from his head, he rose up, and thought of having a little walk. Maybe a chat with the guard, whoever he or she was, could release him from these dark visions. He would just have to occupy himself with something else. Sythric saw a figure standing, leaning towards a tree, some thirty feet away from him. He started to approach the figure carefully: not to make too much noise, but no to be perceived as stalking either. He would just need to have some company, not a third alarm for this party today.
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