The end of the first week of the siege began with thunder not from the sky, but from the walls.
Romanus catapults hurled their ceaseless barrage, stones pounding into towers until cracks webbed through their foundations.
Each impact sent tremors through the camps and showers of dust cascading down upon the defenders.
The outer wall of the Francian capital, proud and gleaming once, now bore the scars of relentless punishment.
Its towers leaned like drunkards, its battlements half-collapsed.
In places, the stonework was little more than jagged teeth against the horizon.
And the defenders knew it.
At the northern gate, legionaries pushed their ram once more into position.
The iron-capped head slammed against the doors with a sound like a giant's fist on a drum.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Each strike echoed through the city, shaking the very bones of those inside.
