The ram crashed a final time against the gates of Magai, and the iron head split the oaken gates apart with a sound like thunder. The armies of Akor the Tyrant lifted up their spears and red swords and they cheered as the gates broke at last. The great wooden beams, scarred by the blows of swords and studded with broken arrows, fell inward, tearing free of the stone gate-towers as they collapsed. After nine days, the city was broken.
Stone rained down in a cascade, the defenders caught in it hurtling to their deaths, screaming as they were crushed by the fall. All around the ancient city the black legions of the tyrant intensified their assault. Catapults hammered at the stone walls, splashing the battlements with fire. Arrows scythed through the smoke-covered sky and cut down men wherever they showed themselves. Battle drums called forth with their voices, and the war-horns bellowed.
The Brothers of the Red Sword formed before the broken gate. A thousand men in red armor, faceless and deadly. As the gate crumbled into a heap of ruined stone and a tower of dust rose up into the sky, they followed their bloody standard into the city, voicing their terrible war-chant with every step.