Day 627 of the siege of Barad-dúr. Weary, decimated armies in a barren plain that could not even feed goats. Still, there was hope, pockets of life in this land of death and darkness. In a dry ditch sheltered by rocks, one of the wenches that accompanied the army of Gondor moaned with lust in time with the rocking hips of Gil-Galad's herold on top of her. Alliances like this made the war bearable, he thought, as each thrust brought him nearer completion, even if this would not be the day when the cornerstones of the black tower would crumble