Into the city the Orcish hosts marched in their legions, great battalions of black-clad Uruks and slavering hordes of Morgul Orcs. Company after company passed into the walls of the ruined east city, scouts from the garrison welcoming them and leading them to position along the river, and across from the immense bridge of the Dome of Stars. Though, as any man could see, the Dome itself had been cast down in the immense fire that had occurred during the Kinslaying, the ponderous mass of the bridge still spanned the swirling waters of the Great River. It was the only passage to either bank that could be taken with ease, the only way to move the catapults that accompanied the Morgul-host against the borderforts of the Rammas Echor.
As the Nazgul landed, the Uruk captain of the defenders bowed low, his knees barely held in place by sheer force of will. A clank of steel gauntlets came as the Ringwraith dismounted from the beast, and some Orcs tossed chunks of bloody flesh to the creature as its master gestured for the commander to rise. He was one of Sauron's more trusted servants, one of the best examples of the Black Uruks that the Dark Lord had created of Westron stock mixed with that of Orc-kin. Taller by a head than most of the sons of men, and almost as broad as a half-troll, the warrior was still a keen tactician, one of the foremost of the host of Mordor.
"Garthog. Report."
The Uruk bowed its head once more, and spoke in tones of gravel.
"The men of Gondor march, my lord. Your coming is well timed, by the will of the Great Eye; many thousands of soldiers, much of the strength the accursed White City has remaining to it, has been rallied to the standard of Boromir, the son of the Steward, that flies on the western bank. We expect an assault any day now, but with your host it would take the coming of the Valar themselves to force a crossing."
With a curt nod of its invisible head the Nazgul accepted the report, and the Uruk let out a barely-concealed sigh of relief. These extensions of the will of Lugburz were not known for their patience, and Garthog returned to the direction of the defense. Long ago had the Orcs fortified the main path along the bridge with a wall as high as three men of crude stone blocks pulled from the crumbling city, but with the manpower now available to him the strategist began repairing one of the old redoubts, a great fortified manor house that had once belong to a lord of Minas Ithil. Still the sign of the moon hung over the doors, and many Morgul Orcs chuckled in their throats as they passed it. Some towers were repaired, to afford the archers a better vantage point on the damaged great bridge, and watchers were set up and down the lapping quays and ruined piers of the riverfront in force.
The Black Gate, Morannon, Mordor
Harsh cries went to and fro atop the frowning wall of the portal to the land of ash after the Orcs of Moria had spoken; eventually, after a few minutes, a loud horn blast was given forth from one of the Towers of the Teeth that stood watch over the plain before the fortified entrance, and with the slow grinding of immense machines the Gates opened a small space, enough for twenty soldiers to march abreast. Through the gap came a rider and some tall Uruks, the Rider one of the black-hooded figures that was the Nazgul. As it approached the Orcs a cloak of dread fell over them, but only a natural fear, not the malignant aura of one of the Ringwraiths enraged. It dismounted, and walked up to the leader of the Orcs that had spoken.
"I am the voice of Sauron from afar, a servant of the Great Eye. Your speech marks you of the Orc-kin of Moria. What word from the West?"
Southern Dagorlad
in this wide and fertile land only just north of the Mountains of Shadow the Orc-host marching felt ill at ease, almost exposed, without the familiar scents of ash and the enclosing craggy peaks. But at their lead rode a man of Rhun, a captain from the East called to the service of the Dark Tower, and he knew these lands well. Securing this area would afford the traders of Rhun another route directly to the Black Gate, and allow the forces of the Eye to keep abreast of news from the north more throughly; the folk that lived along the line of the River Running, in the area known as Dorwinion, were not hostile to Sauron, but they still bore watching. He chose out a comely hillock, near a large grove of the thick low scrub-trees that inhabited this land, and began to bark out orders for the many captains of the host. Here was an opportunity great, to make more lands for the food the armies of Mordor needed, and establish the dominion of the Eye further afield. With great axes the Orcs began to hew down the wooded marches, piling the log in great mounds. With the host had marched many craftsmen drawn from the south and the east, and under the steady gaze of the Rhunic commander a small stockade began to take shape.
Angfalch, Paths of the Dead Marshes
A scout walking in patrol along the north-western paths of the Dead Marshes was the first to sight the large party of spiders coming from the north with speed. They were known to his eyes, or rather known to his superiors who had instructed him in the matter; in ages past the great Spiders of Mirkwood had been allies of Sauron when he had been regaining his power in the guise of a mere Necromancer, and though their relationship to the cause of Melkor was unknown due to the ancient strife of Ungoliant, they were creatures of the Shadow, and always would be. As such they were allowed to pass unmolested through the boggy fens of the lands near Angfalch, and made their eastward, along the clapboard road that was still taking shape back towards the Black Gate in the east.
Great carts of dirt and broken stone were now coming up that very causeway, and being poured in to the stagnant pool near the low tower of Angfalch to give the garrison and the laborers more room upon which to build. The tents of the workers and soldiers stationed here took up almost every scrap of land near the large hillock, and not a tree could be found for nearly a half-day's march from the rising structure. A low pallisade was slowly being shod over with walking passages for guards and archers, and the inner keep and barracks, though still humble structures, had had their foundations reinforced with carven stones of prodigious weight pulled by stout horses from the quarries of Durthang and the plains of Gorgoroth.
But that was not all; a mighty host had marched up the causeway from Mordor, and their hands were now too occupied with the task of construction and securing the Dark Lord's grip on these lands. Word amongst the many Orcs and Uruks was that the Black Rider that had come with them was bound elsewhere shortly, but for now their help was much used, whips cracking and teams of hundreds of Orcs working like slaves to do the will of the Great Eye.
Northern Ithilien
Through the glens of Ithilien the great host of Mordor marched, their numbers beyond reckoning, thousands. Scouts and outriders watched out carefully for any signs of the vile men of Gondor in this quiet woodland, intelligent Uruks of craftiness and cunning, accustomed to the forest and its ways, their foremost watchers. Normally there would have been much to do in such a land, but now that the men had been driven beyond the river in any decent force for many long years, it was all but a peaceful land, safe for the passage of arms and soldiers. But, that did not mean one could lower their guard. From Cair Andros in ages past had the men sent scouts and ambushing against the forces of Mordor, which had cost the Great Eye bitterly. Now, however, his winged spies informed the Dark Lord that the river fortress of the men of the West was devoid of guards; all had been called back to Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, for what purpose the Numenorean commander of the host knew not.
But there it lay, connected by only a small causeway to the eastern shores; once a strong fortress of men, now deserted, ripe for the taking. With a cry and nods to his subordinates, the general sent brigades of Orcs marching across the bridge, taking up occupation of the fortress. Soon the scarlet and black banners of the hosts of the Black Land waved over the citadel. A small garrison of wood-wise Orcs only he left behind in the empty land of Northern Ithilien, to tend the roads and keep them ready for the passage of more soldiers of Lugburz.
Tower of Hurin, Emyn Arnen
From the highest point of the slowly restored fortress the captain left in charge of the hilly region of Emyn Arnen watched the black lines of the host that had marched north to Osgiliath disappearing into the city. He heaved a sigh of relief, and uttered a brief prayer in his native Southron tongue to Melkor for their success against the hated forces of Gondor that were doubtless arrayed against them upon the west bank. Only thirty and five winters old, this was only his second major command near the lines of combat, and his first experience warring against the Rangers near Cair Andros had left him sure he would rather command a peaceful area than fight. The man of Harad did not lack the stomach for combat, but he knew he lacked the prowess of the greater lords and commanders of the Obsidian Throne, and Eretir would not have the ire and displeasure of the Great Eye fall upon him if he could help it.
To that end he continued the raising of the tower, salvaging much usable stone from the derelict buildings that huddled in the shadowy vales of the Emyn Arnen. Not all of it was good quality, but the ancient ramparts had been repaired, and a low wall of rubble and blocks raised to the height of a man's breast about the seat of rule of this rolling land. It would serve, if the sons of Westernesse chose to come against this place, though he doubted it could hold many determined foes back.
