Tower of the Rising Moon
Chapter 1

On the eastern border of Gondor, in a sheltered mountain vale, lay a city, surrounded by ramparts, built from gleaming white marble. In the center of the city was a huge tower, rising above the walls, looking out over the vale. Before the enormous gates of the city, a bridge spanned a river which flowed down from the mountains above. Flanking the opposite end of the bridge was a pair of statues, both of old, hooded men, welcoming allies, forbidding entrance to enemies.
The city was known as Minas Ithil, Tower of the Rising Moon, and the tower in the center was known by the same name. It was the sister of Minas Anor, Tower of the Setting Sun. Tall men in noble armor proudly patrolled the city, for they had to be ever vigilant. The Dark Lord had been defeated two thousand years ago, but many of his servants were still abroad. Rumor said that the Nazgul were again gathering in Mordor. If that was true, an attack on the city could happen any day.
But the people of Ithil weren’t worried. They would know beforehand if an attack was to happen, for the watchmen in Cirith Ungol, the watch tower set high in the mountains, would send a messenger to alert them.
But little did they know that Cirith Ungol had fallen days ago. The attack had been sudden, and the people unprepared. Every human in the tower was slaughtered, and the tower itself now served as a base for Mordor’s vanguard as they plotted the attack on the city.
At the top of the path that climbed from the city into the mountains stood a horse, black, with glowing red eyes. On its back sat a figure, wearing a ragged black cloak over dark armor. The pauldrons and the helm were the only pieces of armor worn outside its cloak, and the helm added to its menacing visage. Attached to the helm was a jagged crown, and its visor was a horrible mask. As the visor’s seemingly empty eyeholes gazed down at the city, another figure appeared at his side. He wore jagged armor which at first appeared to be ill-made, but despite its appearance, it was, in fact, very well-made. The creature’s appearance was no less hideous than the armor. He was bald, with pointed ears, dark grey skin, and a hideous face.
Without turning his head, the Witch-king knew Raghat was there. “Lieutenant. What news?” spoke a deep, emotionless voice from within the shadow of the Witch-king’s hood.
“The troops are ready, milord,” said Raghat in his deep, throaty growl.
“Good. Prepare for battle.”
“Milord, the city is heavily guarded. Do you really think we can destroy it?”
“Of course not, Raghat. Its walls are stronger than steel. I do not seek to destroy it, I seek to capture it.”
“Of course, milord.”
Just then, a tall young orc with tan skin spoke behind them. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Shall we begin the attack?”
“Yes, sergeant,” replied Raghat, grinning. “Wipe the pathetic weaklings out.”
The sergeant turned and walked back towards the tower. Raghat was uneasy. “Milord, your defeat at Angmar…”
“It is of no concern, Raghat. It will take a long time, but I will capture this city. We shall have revenge for Angmar.”
“Yes, milord.”
Just then, the sound of marching feet came from behind. Raghat turned and saw the front of their army marching from the pass. They walked by the Witch-king and Raghat and down the path, towards the city.
The Siege of Ithil had begun.