[b]MONTGOMERY, WALES
LATE IN THE EVENING[/b]

It was a sound that struck every ear in the city, even those of they who were already in their beds and asleep.
The loud and shrill clanging of the mighty bell in the cities' Abbey.
It wasn't sounding off like it usually was however, in a slow and timely pace like when it was time for congregation for example.
No, now it was clanging and banging in a rapid fashion rather than the more serene [i]dong[/i] sound that it was so custom to making.

The bell was accompanied by a grand chorus of frantic and scattered shouting voices, along with the sounds of galloping horses, slamming and banging doors and hatches, and the low rumbling of hundreds, if not thousands, of running feet.

Those that slept were rushing to their doors and windows to see what was the cause of this grand calamity, most adorned only in their sleeping gowns or under garments.

The Welsh soldiers and the night watch were scrambling around through the streets in a frenzy, on foot and horseback alike, and hustling up the walls and crowding along the cities' walls.
Torches and lanterns were lighting up across the city em masse.

The captain of the cities' guard and the local garrison alike, was a short stocky man named Wyndel Laynthe.
He stood even now on the wall alongside his fellow soldiers and the local guards and militia, gazing out towards the east.
He was fully dressed in his half-plate armor with a chain-mail tunic to add to efficiency, and in his hands he gripped his trusty short sword and his wooden shield.
His helmet visor was up, revealing a pudgy face with a scraggly reddish brown beard to accommodate it.

"Lord Above, deliver us."He said aloud in a staunch voice, speaking the thoughts and prayers of his own mind and heart as well as those around him, for they all were staring out at what could only be several thousand English soldiers, a massive army that stood several hundred yards from the main gate, all of them illuminated by the moonlight and the torches they carried.

The English were lined up in a massive column that was nearly as long as the eastern wall of the city, unmoving, stationary, all of them gazing at the massive Welsh city that would soon be their own, it and all the wealth, food, and maidens within.

Sir Rodney sat on his horse out at the front of the column, his visor down over his face, armor glistening in the moonlight in an ominous manor.
He kept his men at bay, as they had just arrived.
If the Welsh planned to sally forth and fight them, they would be ready to defend and follow up with a counter.
If the Welsh did nothing, they would make camp tonight, and attack at sunrise.

On the walls, the Welsh did nought but state and ready their weapons.
Captain Laynthe ordering everyone to hold steady and await to see if the English would make their move.
Yet so far they did nothing, the massive army remained in place, frozen in a defensive deadlock.
Both sides waiting for the other to move first.