The sentries had done their job and the alarm had sounded in the camp before the orcs attacked the camp. The savages had certainly taken them by surprise, but Sir Roderick was not worried; his small unit had trained extensively for this situation.
His squire helped him quickly into his chainmail, the horns of the orcs now splitting the night with their horrid bleating. Normally, he would dispense with his plate to face the ambush, but he nodded at the squire to begin helping him don it. His men, with simpler armors, were following suit, not requiring as much help as he did.
The squire worked quickly, pulling the straps to secure the pieces of plate and simply letting them stick together by virtue of whatever magic made them work, saving precious time with each pull.
The men-at-arms were fully armed and armored when the orcs finally breached their camp's perimeter, surprising the orcs with their preparedness and handily routed the raiding party.
What had the wizard called this miraculous strap that had probably saved their lives? The Veil of Crow, or something...