Boom,…Boom,…Boom,…Boom!

There came a great crashing from the gates, Grond's head of steel tore threw the wood and into the soldiers who stood braced behind it. High above the Nazgul calls stirred the troops to press onward, forcing the warriors of Minas Tirith to either flee or fall to the sword. A fell cry and the shouts of men foretold the white wizards end; bloodied talons raked the cobbles, the fell beast's eyes burned with fire. Proud upon its back with the rage of a glacier thawed Indur threw back his hood and shrieked to the stars, echoed by the other six that swarmed about the city like a plague.

The guards of the citadel were scattered as the trolls of Mordor ripped the white tree to splinters. Standing silent on ones back Adunaphel drew back the bowstring, aimed…
The streets filled with Orcs, the people within slain, on the field the horn of Rohan nor Gondor blew.
How to describe the slaughter of so many, the agony of the men unable to protect their city, their lives, the fear of the woman who draw back into corners only to meet their death crushed against the walls, the tears of a child who has seen an Orc skewer a parent, no future have they… and shortly after, no breath. Loved ones, family, homes and lives… all are lost… lost to the Eye.

So a Silence… silence thick as blood flowed over the ground. Even the Orcs were still, forms twitching in wonder, confusion, fear, and where is the foe? Where did all these dead come from? Where are the armies that stood before us not a moment ago? The roofs are set aflame, Minas Tirith glows ember as the sun flees from the sky.

It seemed the sun must set…

On the field of battle stained, spears like spines in skyward pose…

The shields lye cracked… their metals maimed…

As those who wielded them, the fallen lye in flame…

A silent scream, from the butchered beast's throat,

The Rohan's emblem broken…

And looming in the smoke, their wings of darkness woven…

The fell beast cry doth pierce the sky… the dead have spoken…

We are lost… we are lost…

(Oh lord… look around us, see they did fall, remember… remember why I fought here for you, I have kept my bargain…) Indur landed his beast before the army of Mordor, still standing frozen in disbelief, and throwing his hood back upon his head he raised his blade and cried, The field is won! Gondor and Rohan fall to the Eye!

…It started small, building in the throats of thousands before bursting free in a triumphant roar that shook the crumbling walls of the ringed city. The cries of triumph from the foul horde seemed to blacken the very skies above that already themselves were falling, into darkness…

Within the walls of Mordor

Khamul raised his head, eyes lighting at the wave of pleasure his lord sent forth to his Nine.

Curious he rose to his feet, and moved through the blackened hallways of the dark tower to the summit. The Mouth turned when he entered, though as he was not dressed for war he did not bother to open the door. Instead he slipped past like the black breath itself, and stood before the other with barely reined in loathing.

…Why is he so pleased… has the battle turned for the better..?

The Mouth grinned, "Better than that Easterling, the field is won! The city was captured by Mordor's champion." Khamul hissed, eyes burning in the dark. (And so once again… while I am away… that pathetic excuse for a captain steals my glory!) The Mouth turned serious, his expression hidden by the helm he wore, but the Ringwraith could sense his unease. "Have the spells held, or is he in need of further assistance?"

The Easterling sighed low in his craw. He is healing… he will not allow me near, and do not go to him… I sense you wish to do so. He will slay thee if you speak with him now…

The Mouth of Sauron paused, "He will not allow you near?"

Khamul hissed, eyes burning in a slow boiling anger. Like I…he did not wish to leave the battle. This absence has cost him his victory, (And mine) and he is not pleased to have been shamed in front of the hosts of Mordor by a "Woman".

There came a hiss from behind, Murazor stood, unguarded save for his sword and gauntlets, his black robes blowing freely without the armor underneath. He gave Khamul a glare that would crack stone. Instantly Khamul retreated slightly, not wanting to challenge. He knew well enough what the result would be were he to fight his leader, and a shudder swept down the already fringed form to remind him of the emotion of fear.

However the other did not strike him, nor show any further acknowledgement of him, but kneeled low before the eye. The dark one must have spoken, for it seemed the sag in his captains shoulders filled, and when he raised his head there was purpose in his eyes, with a bow he rose and walked to the edge of the summit, without hesitation he stepped into the air. In an instant a beast was billow him, screeching out a cry as if to reprimand the wraith lord for not waiting. Then they were gone like a foul wind, vanishing over the walls of Mordor and leaving not but frost behind.

…Where does he go? Has the eye sent him forth?

The Mouth nodded, his back now to the wraith. "Indeed, he is on an assignment now, as our lord has forgiven him his recent …and rather embarrassing failure."

The wraith perked with interest. …And, this assignment would be? The Mouth turned, and his eyes seemed to chuckle like burning coals as they set your home ablaze.

"It seems there is an heir of Isiludur alive, at least,

until he is found…"