His Corrupted Soul [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter IV : The Siege of Gondor

"Courage is like a muscle; It is strengthened by use." - Ruth Gordon

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|SOUNDTRACK|

The Siege of Gondor - Return of the King Soundtrack

Grond, The Hammer of the Underworld - Return of the King Soundtrack

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Ruins of Osgiliath

The Witch-King sat there upon his Fell Beast, the creature having taken roost on one of the many broken buildings. The once great river-city was broken, not a living soul left, having either fled to Minas Tirith or died in the attacks. All was silent, with the exception of the uneven footsteps making their way towards him. He did not glances towards the orc, named Gothmog and the most clever of his kind, who sought audience with him. The footsteps ceased, and the Witch-King knew that Gothmog awaited his word and he gave it.

"Send forth all legions," He hissed in that hoarse tone, "Do not stop until the city is taken. Slay them all."

His Fell Beast shivered beneath him, shaking its head and readjusting as Gothmog then asked, "And what of the wizard?"

There was a heavy moment of silence as the Witch-King stared across the Pelennor Fields at Minas Tirith, where he knew the wizard was.

"I will break him."

Gothmog then left his presence swiftly, and Er-Murazor was left to his own musing thoughts that were tainted with worry. Inconnu was there too in Minas Tirith, and there would be no helping the circumstances in which they would meet again.

Minas Tirith

Inconnu stood there in her new armor, standing next to Gandalf at the edge of the white courtyard as they watched the horde come from Minas Morgul. The armor was a mismatched set, Inconnu having picked and chose what worked and what did not. In the end, she wore a long grey tunic, the sleeves long and the bottom reaching the top of her thighs, cut at an angle so she possessed more freedom of movement. It also possessed a deep hood, and this she currently had up as she scanned the ranks far below the walls of Minas Tirith.

On top of that, she wore a shirt of chainmail that was also long, though nearly as long as her tunic, and the sleeves as long as the tunic's. Her hand were fitted with leather gloves, having refused proper gauntlets, but did wear braces as to protect her arms. Completing the ensemble was the dire wolf pelt she had won so long ago it seemed, and it had been draped across her shoulders in a mantle. There would be no doubt in anyone's mind that she was indeed the Huntress of the North, standing with them as the Morgul Host drew closer into the coming siege.

She tapped her right foot on the ground, releasing some pent up energy through the iron-toed boot into the ground. Her hand was firmly grasped onto the hilt of Ghosts Song, ready to unsheath it at a moments notice. Sverundr was also ready for war, but he waited for her call as summoning him to fight on the ramparts would not a sound idea. As much as he did not like it, the Mearas stallion waited.

Thousands upon thousands of orcs marched towards the white walls of Minas Tirith, and Inconnu watched them as they stopped. They were so close, and she noticed the catapults they had brought with them being readied. Inconnu, with keen eyes, also spotted a mangled and pale orc riding a dark brown warg to the frontlines.

'Must be the primary commander leading from the ground... I wonder then,' Inconnu paused in her thoughts as she scanned the fields and the skies above. 'Where is the Witch-King?'