[CaptainofDespair]

It was a cool evening; the pale lighting of the torch fires on the edge of the hovels flickered and danced across the tents of the encampment, casting a myriad assortment of shadowy figures upon the leather-hide flaps, the smell of burning oils wafting through the quiet pathways that led between the makeshift housing for the army. The silence, which pervaded every nook and stretched forth its grasping claws and screamed out with a desperate, hollow voice, snaring any sound unwary enough to challenge its domain, lazily slept as the heavy footfalls of boots thudded through the musty dirt.

The only light emanating from within the rows of tents came from one, situated on a measly hill, though it was more akin to a dung heap to the lord who dwelled within, albeit temporarily. Angoroth’s tent went unguarded by his soldiers, as he was always wary of assassins. His belief was that soldiers were too incompetent, or just downright dumb, to handle such a festering demon of the night properly. Thus, only two large mutts, hounds of hell to those who rubbed them the wrong way, were all that stood watch over their master.

A heavy sigh, followed by the sound of an ink quill feverishly scribbling in a dusty, moldy tome, echoed outwards. “Bah! This doesn’t sound right! How am I supposed to fashion something that is memorable, a legacy, if I can’t come up with the proper account of the battle?” He shook his head, and leaned into the palm of his hand, his elbow perched against a table he had brought with him from the East. The wood was of fine oak, a rare commodity in the region he had slipped away from. He had carved it himself, notching it with engravings that held many meanings to him. In the center, he had etched in a dragon, devouring the world; though it was unfinished. He hoped he would have time after this business with the Elves was done with. “Perhaps I should wait until the battle is concluded. There might yet be some twist to whet the appetite of my mind. Or perhaps the Elves will prove to be all too easy, and unimpressive.” Closing the tome, which was laid upon oak boards, and bound together with the leather hide of some beast from ages past, he grunted his disapproval.

As he was preparing to settle in for the night, having risen up from his crudely fashioned chair, another piece of furniture he wished to complete, he heard the whine of his dogs. They often made noises through the night, but this was different. Throwing open the flap of his abode, sword drawn and pointed into the darkness, fully expecting some defected orc or Elven assailant, he cast himself into the shadows, under the bleakness of a murky sky. In the faint torchlight, he caught a glimpse of a familiar visage; that of Ulrung, who had returned from the orc encampments. “Ah, it is only you, Captain. I was expecting someone else.” Without uttering a single pleasantry, which both thought to be quite useless, they stepped out of the shadows of the flickering torch lights, and into the musty dwelling place that was Angoroth’s tent.

The lord seated himself, again, behind his table, leaving Ulrung to stand. “Tell me, Captain, how went the excursions into the orc camps? I do hope you come with favorable news.” Ulrung nodded, replying, “I do, milord. Those that yet do not serve us, have all agreed to side with you in the coming battle. Though, some were more trouble than others.” Angoroth chuckled lightly, having full expected some of the brutish orc chieftains and captains to act with callous disregard for the Dark Lord’s orders. But, before Angoroth could respond to the news, Ulrung added, “There was one…he seemed much like you, who was difficult to persuade.” This whetted Angoroth’s interest in the conversation. “One similar to me, you say? But, he was a lowly Orc? Odd.” Ulrung nodded again, maintaining a disciplined stance. “I do not wish this Orc to arouse trouble for my mission. If he does try anything contradictory to my orders, and to the mission, see to it that he does not live, Captain. Perhaps it will not be necessary to kill him, but as a preventative measure, I want you to keep your eyes on him tomorrow.” Ulrung thrice nodded. “That is all, Captain. Now, return to the camp and muster the army.”

~*~

Bustling about in the darkness, the many contingents of Angoroth’s army marched about, assembling in their assigned locations. The shrouded blackness prevented the myriad groups from recognizing each other, and so the dim lights of torches were given to the banner bearers, who signaled for each of the companies and battalions to move. Sitting atop a horse in the early morning hours, the lord of the army waited patiently for Ulrung to return, with news that all the pieces of the puzzle were ready, His steed sniffed the air, blowing out a hard wind through its large, black nostrils. It had been relatively calm, until now. It started to pull back a bit, just as Ulrung’s horse rode up beside it, startling it some with the heavy, winded breathing of its cousin. Out of the darkness, Ulrung’s words echoed, “Milord, everything is prepared. We are ready.” Angoroth nodded, and gave his captain the signal to begin the march to the Elven city. At this, Ulrung continued his ride, up to the front of the great column of soldiers and mercenaries. There, he muttered the orders to a signaler, who immediately blasted a single, long winded horn-call, sending the army into motion.

After a long, steady march through the darkness, they at last came upon the sleeping city, a pearl in the misty gloom of the night. Across the fields they marched, the grasses and trees shuddering as they passed by. The earth trembled beneath their iron-shod feet, sorrowful for what was to happen. When at last they reached the place where the siege was to begin, the silently waited as the rams and mangonels were set in place. It took only a few brief hours for the siege machines to be readied, and the army mustered itself yet again, to surge against crumbling walls and broken towers, into a fire-wracked city.

The pull of a rope signaled the beginning of the end for Ost-in-Edhil, as it unleashed a projectile towards the walls, crying out as a bird shrieks as it burst through the air, and into the turret of a tower. What followed was a horrendous sight, as the Elves scrambled to alert the city. More shots in the darkness, burning with fiery delight, crashed into the city’s walls and beyond; into shops and homes, killing those that crossed paths with them. The city felt the shattering pain of the siege begin, as the stones cracked and broke away beneath the torrent of catapult fire.

Angoroth turned to Ulrung, as the cityscape began to burn, and uttered, “And now, it is the End. We shall cast down the towers and walls, and lay waste to the city.”