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Minas Ithil - Citadel Courtyard

Anárion enters the courtyard followed by Galen and a handful of guards. As the sun sets, tension rises in the city of the Tower of the Rising Moon. Gondor's soldiers look to their Captains for instruction, their courage hanging on a thread. It is uncertain what the Enemy plans. Gondor expected retaliation from Mordor following the rescue of Anárion's brother Isildur from the clutches of the Dark Lord. As night falls on the sixth day, retaliation is nigh.

Anárion sweeps into the courtyard with all the trappings of a Prince of Gondor. His countenance remains resilient in the face of the threat of Mordor. With right handle resting on the hilt of Anárore at his side, he approaches the group of gathering Elves and Men.

Bowing before the King of the Noldor and the White Lady, Anárion stops and waits for the others to arise before commencing the briefing.

Minas Ithil :: Courtyard

Hearing some commotion, Laurewyn looks past the gate of the courtyard. The wind picks up and transforms from a gentle breeze to a hostile wave of dust and leaves. "The wind stirs in the coming battle," she murmurs to herself. Bow in hand, she strides to the battlements to oversee the field. Battalions of orcs and foul beasts stand waiting below, unmoving...

The Ithil-vale
Akhôrahil of the Nine

The board was set, and the pieces were moving. Soon, yes, soon, the warriors of the Black Country would pounce upon the Tower of the Rising Moon, and that tower would fall. The Ringwraiths would make it their own. A tower of the moon still, but a dark, twisted moon, a city of the dead. None would look upon the Tower of Dark Sorcery without fearing for their very lives! And it would start...

...where is Murazor?!

Akhôrahil looked around. No... no. His chief was no where to be seen. Neither could he find Ji Indur, and in that observation was the answer to his question. "The insane nut must have run off looking for jewels, the fool. How I hate him. Gives us blondes a bad name, he does."

"Actually, my lord, I would describe your hair as being more of a mithril-ish shade of white. Or, it was, I hear."

Akhôrahil glared down at the random Orc who had interrupted his fuming, and it was quite clear that he was not delighted in the Orc's observation in the least. The fell-beast licked its lips, eagerly anticpating his master's next orders.

Moments later, the Wraith flew over to Khamûl, and requested that he lead the fourty-eight Orcs of the Ithil company on, while he sought out his missing commander. "One day, and I do swear this upon the name of my Precious, I will stab Ji Indur in the back and thrust him through the Door of Night!" he screamed. He began flying towards Minas Ithil, at thrice the speed he was before.

We were to remain hidden until nigh the end of the battle. The fool! What treachery has he committed! But as the tower of Isildur came into view, and Akhôrahil saw the 150 Gondorian archers, he realized, perhaps, that the Orcs would last no longer than ten seconds. O! Sauron my master, thou art a fool.... he screamed, but he was amused nonetheless.

Why wait, he thought. He would join Murazor and Ji Indur that instant, and may the master's plans be thrust into the abyss.

Minas Ithil :: The Citadel
Ereinion Gil-galad

The king gazed into the sky as the sun fell beyond Mindolluin in the west. "I would expect no less of the Enemy," said Gil-galad, "that he should attack during that night when Isil is not in the sky." It was true; the moon was new, and no light would it shed onto the battle. "But we are fortunate. Minas Ithil itself is as the moon, and it is Isildur's tower that shall light this city. We shall suffer no damage be done to the tower; nor Osgiliath."

Quickly then did Elf and Man accept last minute counsel. No matter what amount of Orcs were sent, it was known that they would quickly fall to the archers of Westernesse. The White Tree, certainly, was not forgotten, and the advice of Galadriel was certainly accepted; that the Gaurds of the Citadel should remain in their position, to insure no damage done to the tree of Númenór. Also was the will of Karesewen accepted; to post guards at the Houses of Healing, for the sake of Isildur who was not yet healed even thanks to the cordials of the White Lady.

Yet beyond that, Gil-galad let known that the Nazgûl were the sole threats. "In this hour, we fight. I will not issue direct commands, for the plans of the Ringwraiths are random and unknown. Defend whatever you see fit. So long as you do not give into fear, you shall prevail. We are the Highest of both our kindreds, the Noldor and the Númenóreans. There is no reason for loss."

Whether or not he wished to say more was not known, for in that moment was a terrifying screech heard, and it was clear that the Nazgûl were come.

Minas Ithil :: The Citadel
Ereinion Gil-galad

He could see them from the White Tree. Three fell-beasts, at least, and he was sure that the... forty-eight Orcs below were being lead by the remaining six. Yet forty-eight? That seemed an odd number to be sent from Mordor. Gil-galad counted again, but his Elven eyes did not breray them. He could only espy forty-eight Orcs from the Citadel. "I see. This is merely a show of force; I had suspected it earlier, yet this confirms it."

Yet suddenly, and out of the shadows, there came a new foe. Accompanied by three more of those hated Úlari was, possibly, an even greater threat, for shackled to their fell-beasts was a Troll. "Impossible!" cried the Elf-king. "How did the Enemy manage to leash a Troll all the way to Gondor without it being turned to stone!"

"My lord," said one of the guards of the citadel, "If thou would look closely, thou wouldst see that he is covered entirely in armor. Anar can not harm his rocky skin, for his skin is not exposed."

"You are correct, I see. And yet his armor does double the damage, for the archers will not easily fell this monster. Send word to the gate guards! The Troll will likely be in the company of a battering ram. He will come too late for the Orcs, but he will still find himself able to do sufficient damage on his own if he gains entry! Go!"

Minas Ithil :: The Ramparts
Akhôrahil of the Nine

He could do twice the harm to the tower of Gondor if he and his fell-beast were separated. She was a rather obedient beast, and she would do no harm that Akhôrahil had not intended.

Of course, now that he was on the ground, he had to choose. Did he attack with his Mordor-blade, or instead wield a mace? He would, in fact, have preferred a flail, but the last time he attempted to attack a Númenórean with one of those things he had ended up smacking himself in the face. It was quite painful, emotionally more so than physical, because Murazor had rubbed it in his face for the next year and three months.

"Stupid Murazor being better than me." Of course, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Err…. DIE, Elf scum!" he shouted in the Common Tongue, in a vain effort to make Menegil forget the embarrassment entirely. Without thinking, he seized Urthaur his mace and made a mad dash at the High Elf, not letting the light of his sword bother him.

His fell-beast, meanwhile, was having a rather tasty snack. Gondorians always tasted so good, she thought. YUMMY!

Minas Ithil

The terrible cry of the fell beasts ringing in his ears, Anárion lifts his eyes to the sky and watches as Wraiths on Wings circle the city, making meals of Gondor's soldiers.

Jaw locked and body tense, the Prince turns and shouts at the nearest group of archers, ordering them to bring the winged uglies to the ground. As his brother is not physically able to defend his City, Anárion steps up to the task. Anárore clasped firmly in his hand, Anárion mounts his horse and leaves the courtyard of the Citadel, on his way to the outer wall.

There, he dismounts and directs Gondor's soldiers as they defend the city from the orcs below. Some archers aim below at the marching orcs while others point their bows to the sky, attempting to shoot down Nazgûl and fell-beasts as they dive at the soldiers.

Minas Ithil :: The Ramparts
Akhôrahil of the Nine

"Well, personally, I would describe myself as a fighter who simply doesn’t fight fair." Akhôrahil probably would have winked, if he had an eye, but he did not, so he could do nothing but simply stare at his foe; probably with a menacing grin, but again, it was not to be seen. "Wilma!"

And in an instant was Wilma diving upon Menegil. It was rather unexpected, for now not only was there a mace threatening to shatter his sword, but also was there Wilma, diving in upon his back. That alone would have horrified the most stout hearted of Elves and Men.

The sound of sharpened steel rubbing against a sheath could be heard. "This blade I hold here is a Mordor-blade," commented that Ringwraith rather nonchalantly, and it was clearly seen that he was wielding a sword with his free hand. "In fact, I do believe it is the same blade I used to injure your lord. Would it not be a great honor to die by the sword that gravely injured your king, hmmm? The same blade that I shall soon thrust through his neck? Hmmm?"

"How do you wish to die? Mace, sword, or my beloved Wilma? Choose, and choose swiftly. If you do not, I shall choose, and I shall feed you to my pet."

YUMMY!

Minas Ithil

Glorfirith stood amongst some of the other archers. She really thought this an odd battle. Nazgul, they're a decent opponent... but did she not count 48 orcs? She then noticed one of the fell beasts carrying something.

"Ahhh. They have a cave troll."

She saw that it was covered in armour. It would be a hard target to hit. She began looking its armour over for weakness while she fired her arrows at any fell beast within range.

Minas Ithil

After Kareswen had asked Gil-galad to send guards to the Houses of Healing, for her husband’s sake, she heads to the top of the wall. Surrounded by soldiers, she makes her way to the front lines, there she can get a better view of the enemy and be able to take down the foul orcs that dare threaten her home.
But a surprise awaits Kareswen, she was expecting to be faced with a couple hundred orcs at least, but when she counted, there were less than fifty. She recounted twice to make sure her eyes were not playing games on her, they were not, only 48 orcs had been sent.

Although they were not the greatest threat, the Nazgul had also come. It was to be expected, no one attacks Minas Ithil with a force of forty-eight and expects to prevail.
And though there was no moon to reflect the shine of armor, Kareswen saw that a Troll was also brought.

The cries of the fell beasts from above ring in her ears and Kareswen tries to ignore them, but notes where they are coming from, so as not to become fell beast food and concentrates on the orcs. Taking an arrow from her quiver and her bow, she aims and hits her target, she hits two more orcs, before looking to the skies.
Almost right away, Kareswen sees a fell beast flying towards a soldier, she recognizes him as Anarion, taking an arrow she aims at the fell beasts underside and fires.