Siege of Gundabad RPG

[Firefoot]

Adranel picked her way through the bodies, holding her skirts high out of the bloody snow. During times like these she truly did envy the men their breeches - skirts were such a bother! Her quiver had been severely diminished, and she was trying to find her arrows. Some of them were damaged, and Adranel did not bother with those because she did not have the means to repair them. Besides, bending over hurt her side, and she had no motivation to do so just to get broken arrows. All told, she was able to retrieve about three-quarters of the arrows she shot, and she carefully extricated those, wiping them clean of the black blood and replacing them to her quiver. Grim satisfaction was found by the number of targets she hit. The Orcs would pay yet. Finally deciding she had gotten as many arrows back as she could, she left the small battlefield, though she stayed clear of the soldiers for the most part.

Adranel looked around and saw Beluf and soldier nearby, talking and pointing at something in a tree. Straining her eyes, Adranel realized it was that crazy man, Innema. At least he had enough sense to get out of the way of battle, she thought dryly. She wandered a little closer, trying to figure out what was going on. She was not so bold yet as to approach them; Beluf was likely annoyed with her for her outburst yesterday, and the last time she had seen Innema he had attacked her. She stopped when she was close enough to make out the details. Neither man had noticed her because of their concentration on the man in the tree. It looked to her like they were trying to get him out. Beluf held a piece of bread, as if to lure him down like a dog.

She was tempted to leave them to their own business, but she wanted something to do, and decided to throw out some advice to them. She approached to about fifteen feet away, a distance she felt was long enough that she would not be obliged to join them. “His name is Innema,” she called out tartly. Her voice was neither friendly nor hostile; for all the familiarity she showed, she might as well have never met Beluf. The two men turned at the sound of her voice. “I don’t recommend trying to force him to do anything - he probably won’t take that well. His mind seems to work in rather... well, strange ways.” She crossed her arms across her chest, unwilling to be more forthcoming than that. They could take her advice or leave it; she did not care. She was curious to see whether they would succeed in getting Innema out of the tree - he looked absolutely terrified of the Orcs and perfectly content to remain in his high perch. She just waited in mild amusement to see what they would try.

[Novnarwen]

He tried ignoring them, partly due to his fright, but also due to the awkwardness he felt. Were they staring at him? What were they actually doing? It bothered him, and thus, he could not help to cast his glances their way every so often. He giggled slightly, but grew soon tired and felt the drowsiness take command. His lids grew heavy, but he couldn’t find peace.

Flashbacks from the events that had just recently taken place on the ground below, made Ingemar tremble with fear. The images which penetrated his mind and forced him to relive the nightmare, made him cling to the trunk even tighter than earlier, in hope of finding support and comfort. Why the orcs had appeared, was still not clear to him. Furthermore, how they had appeared so quickly, was even more of a mystery to him. Seeing them clearly, as if having stared one of them in its eyes, he took notice of the flame that lit up their eyes, a flame of bloodthirstiness, which wasn’t going to distinguish as long as blood was running through its veins. When attacking, the air had been filled with a smell so horrid, that the poor man's stomach had turned. It smelled of rot and sweat; a mixture which didn’t go very well together. The sound of their growls, their steel hitting steel and the sighs that came from the exhausted opponent, were echoing inside of his head. The sky had suddenly changed its colour from a lively blue to the darkest of colours, a threateningly and heavy black. All of this had certainly set its marks on him. In fact, it was like printed with black ink onto his memory.

He was completely in his own thoughts. Tears had started running down his cheeks; loud sobs followed. He suddenly remembered what Norna had told him once; "only small children cries", she had said. And he was not a child, he was . . . Ingemar. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, feeling both bitter, of being left alone, but all the same happier that the horrible scenes seemed yet again only to be memories, and nothing more than that.

“I happen to have some nice bread with me, it's not quite stale yet. Here, would you like to have some?"

Igemar looked around, curious where the voice had come from. Noticing the newly arrived bird on one of the branches above him, with the keen eye of his, he sniggered. It was a nice bird, or so he thought. Its beak was orange, while its feathers were dark brown. How soft they looked. He chuckled, his face filled with a deep desire to touch it.

“Biiiid has beeead?” he asked questioningly. It appeared to him that it was the bird that had spoken. Where the bird had hid the bread it had just moments earlier told him about, was still yet for him to see.

The bird stood silently, tip-toeing, on the branch. It didn’t at all look interested in Ingemar and his doings, but it sat still nevertheless.

Feeling the hunger swell up inside of him, as he had suppressed it, or refused to let this feeling come through, he looked hungrily at it. “Beeead,” he muttered. “Come biiiid, beeead!”

Not even offering his situation a thought; the fact that he was sitting on a branch in a tree, he rose quickly, supporting himself on the other branches nearby. Standing on what seemed like a solid branch, he put all his effort into casting himself forward to catch the bird, being certain of landing on the branch ahead. Halfway through this crazy stunt of his, he felt the branch under his feet give away.

His long fingers rushed through the feathers of the bird. Feeling the soft dune under his fingertips, on his rough skin, he was rather surprised by feeling the hard surface he hit just moments later.

[Boromir88]

"His name is Innema, did you say?" said the soldier standing next to Beluf.

“I don’t recommend trying to force him to do anything - he probably won’t take that well. His mind seems to work in rather... well, strange ways.” Adranel replied stubbornly.

"We shall try none the less. Are you going to help us, or just sit there and laught at us?" Beluf said harshly. Adranel began to walk away, and as she did the memories of the past day ran through Beluf repeatedly...I don't know why she got so upset. I thought we understood eachother. Whatever I think thought doesn't matter. I started this and now I'm going to try to end it. "What is your name good soldier?"

"Mordred" he replied.

"Hell Mordred, I'm Beluf. Could you do something for me...I mean if you don't mind? Could you run and grab Uther, he might be able to get this man from the tree." Mordred didn't mind and went back to get Uther.

Beluf began running towards Adranel, to catch up with her. "Adranel! Adranel!" She turned, but hesistantly, as if not wanting to engage in conversation. "Look, I'm sorry if I didn't mind my own business. If that means anything. I just thougt...." he was at a loss of words, "I just thought we had an understanding. I'm sorry if I upset you and I hope you can forgive me some day." Beluf began to saunter back towards the trees, shoulders dragging, and head down. He looked up and realized Mordred had come back with Uther. They were looking up at tree, trying to get Innema to come down. All eyes of the camp were on Innema, even Sjorging grew slightly interested.

Then with a crash, a man came down from the tree, he screamed "Come biiiid, beeead!" Everyone now in the camp was watching, all their eyes directed at Innema....

[Firefoot]

Adranel gaped at Beluf’s retreating figure. He had walked away before she could respond, and she was probably too surprised to string any words together anyhow. He wasn’t upset or annoyed with her? Even after she had blown up in his face? She could understand why he thought she was mad at him, though she wasn’t - she never had been, really. She had simply lost it, and all those held back emotions had wrongly come tumbling out towards him.

He wanted her to forgive him. Adranel had already done that, even if he didn’t know it, but she didn’t think that she could ever face him again. He had been kind to her and accepted her, and she had yelled at him, and then he asked her to forgive him. She felt awful. He had reached the tree again, and she considered going after him, but the thought fled far from her mind when Innema fell from the tree with a yell. Now everyone’s eyes were turned that way - no way could she approach Beluf now, and she wasn’t even sure that she wanted to. She should just leave now, while no one was paying attention. But she couldn’t, for a couple reasons: her immense guilt at her actions toward Beluf, and also her vengeance on the Orcs.

Ignoring everything else, she began to walk. She needed to think, and to do that she needed to be away from everyone. The sparse woods nearby proved to be ideal. Having spent much of her childhood outdoors, the surrounding trees were both comforting and familiar, as were the twitterings of the winter birds. Purposely, she skirted the army’s camp so as not to wander too far away.

Adranel wondered if she should trust Beluf. He was nice enough, certainly, and she saw no reason not to, but still. Her trust did not come easily these days, and he had breached the wall which she had so carefully constructed between herself and others. She did not hold him responsible, since he had right to be curious, but it still hurt. The pain was lessened, but still there and protected by a hard shell of anger. Underneath of it all she withheld any joy, tenderness, or kindness she had. Adranel realized that she had become afraid to let the latter feelings out. They could make life pleasant, but they could also hurt. She had learned that the hard way, and took the lesson seriously. She was grateful to Beluf because he had probably saved her life by asking her to join them, but she could not lower her guard and let him in. The risk was too great. Her life now was for no greater purpose than to destroy the Orcs, no matter that she was a woman, and she did not know what came next. Death would be a pleasant relief.

She found that she had come to the edge of the forest and was again staring down at the lessened army. With a sigh, she walked toward the soldiers, completely avoiding Beluf. How could he understand that he was just too good to her? She didn’t deserve it, and she didn’t feel like explaining, even if she could. Had Beluf been mad at her, she could face him, but now neither her shame nor her pride would allow it. She did not even plan to camp with them that night: it would be better for her to be on her own. Then, she would neither be hurt nor hurt others. It was the best for everyone.

[CaptainofDespair]

The carcasses of the orcs now littered the snowy field, oozing their putrid black blood into the soil, staining it. The smell of sweat, mixed with the vile orc blood, was enough to turn the stomachs of many of the troopers. Steam rose from the newly deceased, warming the chilly air, serving to increase the rancid aroma of death. The Gondorians sustained few casualties, mostly from slight injuries, which would heal enough in time for the planned assault on the Orcish battlements at Gundabad. But there was one man who was mortally wounded. His fellow soldiers had found him amongst the orc corpses, already near death. The orcs had few archers, and apparently only one had hit a target, whether intended or not. He had been struck in the neck, and was bleeding at a rate which the hastily trained field doctor could not slow. But before Lieutenant Uther could even receive word of the soldier’s condition, he slipped into Death’s waiting arms.

Uther himself had wandered the battlefield for sometime, surveying the carnage, and musing at the effectiveness of his plan, and recalling it in his mind, with as much vivid detail as he could conjure. He recalled the orc slaughter, and the veil of blood that sprayed into the air, masking sight and sound. The clanging of swords, and the howls of dying orcs screamed at his mind, demanding just attention. But before he knew it, the recollection ceased, and faded into what seemed to be a distant memory, of a past needing to be forgotten. He continued to stroll through the wanton carnage, kicking at the lifeless bodies of the orcs, while he mulled over his plans for Gundabad. But in the midst of this solitary wandering, a commotion arose on the opposite end of the field, along the tree line, where a number of soldiers now stood. The weary commander straightened himself up, and proceeded to the small tree that his men had surrounded, careful to avoid stepping on the orcs that were strewn about.

Upon arriving at the site of the excitement, Uther found the man Ingemar, sitting on the ground, with a broken tree limb beside him. Apparently he had hid himself in the tree to avoid the orcs, and had now just fallen out, possibly from the limb breaking. In any case, the lieutenant was not pleased. He motioned to a number of his soldiers to detain the poor man, and take him back to the makeshift camp now being assembled. To the others, he spoke but few words. “Return to the camp, and get some rest. Tomorrow we march in haste to Gundabad.” Ignoring the Men of Dale, he turned his back to the tree where Ingemar had just been, and slowly marched back to camp, to prepare for the next day, and to obtain what rest he could.

The evening was bitter cold, somewhat more so than normal. The fires that had been set within the camp were no use in fending off the dark chill of night. Seeing that the orcs had been defeated, the greater majority of the sentries were allowed to sleep, and stay as warm as possible. Often throughout the night, the moans of the weary soldiers could be heard rising from the hastily constructed tents. This was more than enough to keep Uther awake. But he cared not, for he slept little while campaigning. So, he stayed up throughout the whole of the night, plotting and scheming, while his two dogs slept on a blanket laid out for them.

*******************

The morning was somewhat of a blessing. The soldiers had ceased their almost incessant whining, and had begun to ready themselves for the day’s march. Most were still groggy, and fumbled about in the early morning gloom, slightly confused by the fog that hung over the snow. After an hour or so of this bumbling mess, the sergeants had managed to settle the troopers, muster them for the forced marched that would be ordered soon. The Men of Dale still lingered about the camp, but if they were to travel with the Gondorian host to Gundabad, remained to be seen. Ingemar was still detained, though rather loosely. But, he didn’t wander much. Instead, he just sat on a log bench, waiting for what was to happen to him. If Sjorging and his companions decided to set out for Esgaroth, Ingemar would be sent with them. Otherwise, he would remain with the host.

Uther did not at all see Sjorging, or any of his comrades, that morning. But since he had no time to tarry, he would set out. If they were going to follow him to Gundabad, they would be with the host. If not, he cared little. And thus, with the sounding of a horn, the column trudged forth, into the snowy fields of Dale, and off to Gundabad. Moving slowly at first, the now ‘veteran’ fighting men of Gondor attempted to liven up, before trying to tackle the forced march that their commander had planned for them. There would only be four hours of rest this night, so they tried to gather all their possible energy reserves, in hopes of withstanding the day.

Uther and his chief underlings rode at the head of the column, as usual, muttering to each other over the events of the previous day, and wondering what the Men of Dale would do, as none of them had seen them. But all the talk eventually turned to Uther’s plan for Gundabad. None of the sergeants were privy to his mind, and thus they inquired with him, and pondered many thoughts. But it was to no avail, for the battle-hardened veteran would not utter his plan to them, other than that he would take the mountain fortress.

[Boromir88]

The sun was shining brightly, it was a radiant morning. Sjorging took some bread, cooked some bacon, and wondered off outside of camp. He didn't want to be bothered, not even by his good friend, Gelding.

He sat, with his hands on his chin, thinking what he was to do next. He had already told everyone his companions that they weren't going along with the Gondorians, but the short fray with the orcs brought back old memories. What Sjorging saw of Uther's strategy impressed him. Sjorging still didn't like him, but he couldn't deny the commander knew about fighting. After sitting for hours, Sjorging hadn't seen any of his companions, and he noticed it appeared Uther was about to head out.

He sucked up his pride, and went to have a word with Uther. "Those were some impressive tactic, Uther. A move like that could hurt, or help you, it appears luck was on your side."

Uther grunted wondering who dare have the nerve of telling me I got lucky. He turned around, and he didn't seem too surprised to see Sjorging there. Sjorging continued, "You will most likely be outnumbered, and Gundabad will be well defended, your only hope is strategy. You will need anyone you can get." Uther was well aware of the situation he was about to face, and didn't take Sjorging's words kindly. All Uther cared about was getting this over with as soon as possible, and get his men moving again. "You have been welcomed to join since you first arrived. I am pleased to have you in my service."

What does he mean, me in his service, I serve no one but myself, thought Sjorging. Then he thought of the death of great King Brand, and his oath he made to himself, to not die until Dale was rid of orcs. Sjorging didn't know what to say, but he figured he had to say something, "I will get my companions ready, but I can't promise all of them will come along." Uther nodded, and continued with making preparations to leave.

Sjorging found the rest of the people of Dale, besides Inegmar, sitting around their tent. "I'm going with the Gondorians. You are all free to choose as you will." Gelding all of a sudden looked intent, the first thing that came into his mind was, the argument the previous night. Gelding realized that he had gotten through to Sjorging and was the first to get up and step alongside him. Beluf and Adranel were sitting apart, and sat staring at eachother, as if they were waiting for the other to decide what they were going to do.

"The Gondorians are about to leave." said Sjorging impatiently. "Are you coming or not?"