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Ulrung's battle chariot rumbled over the rocky ground, hurtling forward towards the gates. The separate cordons of orcs and men had finally broken their strict ranks. Angoroth's troops mingled indiscriminately, hacking and whacking their way beneath the heavy shadow of the gates. Above their heads the great rocks from the Dark Lord's catapults continued to rain unevenly onto the stony parapets while Elvish archers responded with a steady barrage of arrows.
Holding up his shield to protect his head from the unrelenting assault, Ulrung urged his stallion into the midst of the fray; his right arm was extended with a battle sword as he slashed first one direction and then another to make his way forward through the crowded mob. Coming to the foot of the wooden gate, Ulrung could see a group of Orcs now coming forward in two long lines holding a hefty battling ram that they intended to use against the gates.
Again and again, the orcs rushed forward with the ram, but the massive gate stubbornly held and gave no sign of breaking. Then, when it nearly seemed that they must turn back in defeat and wait for the catapults to do their slower job, Ulrung yelled out a command for his own men to join in. The Easterlings raced to take up their positions along the heavy ram, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the orcs. Another mighty cry was given by Angoroth, as he snarled his defiance against the luckless residents of Ost-in-Edhill. One last time, the beam was hurled against the wood with an umatched strength and ferocity. This time a crack was heard and the sound of wood splintering: a jagged but real breech in the center of the door, not enough to push it down, but the promise of more to come.
"Keep it up," Ulrung shrieked down from his chariot to the men holding the ram. "Keep it up, and we'll have them."
Soon, soon, the gates of the city would go down......
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