Behold! The Flying City of Minas Mor-go!
"#4, get out here!" shouted the Witch-king. In the distance seven black shapes fluttered, growing larger by the moment. Ringwraith #4 hurried out of the tower, with chocolate smeared all over his face. The Witch-king just rolled his eyes.
"The other Ringwraiths are coming! And make sure to be on your best behavior," said the Witch-king. He straightened the fancy battle-helm he always wore since Pelennor and strode forwards. The other Ringwraiths swooped near, and landed upon the battlements. The wind from the wings of their great, flying beasts lifted and fluttered Ringwraith #4's robes most embarrassingly.
"Stop playing with your robes, #4. The other Ringwraiths have arrived," said the Witch-king. "Greetings, comrades!" he shouted to the others as they climbed off their high mounts, "I welcome you to Minas Mor-go! Come, come!"
The other Ringwraiths leapt to the ground, gazing all around them, admiring Minas Mor-go's axles, but…
"Where are the wheels?" asked Ringwraith #3.
"Shut up," said Khaműl, or Ringwraith #2 as he is sometimes called, "What did I tell you about your manners before we arrived? Idiot." He strode over to the Witch-king, and gave him a huge embrace. "Brother! It's been too long! How are you? How are you?"
"I'm doin' great! Wonderful to see you again! How do you like what I've done with the place?"
"Amazing! How does this thing move, orcs? Wow." Khaműl ran over to the walls to see what the view was like, and then hurried back to the Witch-king. "And hello there," he said to #4, "Great to see you again, … you."
The Witch-king coughed. "Ahem, #4."
"Ah, yes! Now I remember you! Great times we had! Great times! So, Witch-king, for what reason have you called us?"
"Well, as I'm sure you know, we're in a little race."
"Mhmmm, mhmmm."
"But porcupines have punctured the wheels and stolen the spare."
"Mhmmm, mhmmm."
"So my idea was that, if we lighten the load a bit, we can get this thing airborne with our great flying beasts!"
"Wow! Amazing idea, Witch-king. So what sort of things do you want us to help throw overboard?"
"Well, as you guessed, we're orc-powered, and orcs are pretty useless when it comes to flying. I'd kill and throw overboard about half, which is, say, 500."
"I see, I see. Go on."
"And then there is the ugly furniture vault. We need to clear that out."
"Hmmm. Okay."
"And once we've lightened this place a bit, we can tie our flying beasts to the walls, and we're flying!"
"Sounds like a plan to me! I'll get on it." Khaműl called over the other Ringwraiths and began handing out tasks. "#5 and #6, head down to the orcs and kill about half. #7, #8, and #9, start tethering the flying beasts to the city walls. And #3, I want you to go empty out the ugly furniture vault!"
"Why me?" asked #3.
"Because I said so, idiot."
"And take #4 with you!" said the Witch-king, shoving #4 in #3's direction. The two shuffled off to the tower, following #5 and #6, who were already with swords unsheathed.
"Well, Khaműl," said the Witch-king, "Let's grab the lawn chairs and reminisce about the good ol' days. Hey, #4! Bring up some lawn chairs while you're down there!" And Khaműl and the Witch-king began chatting about the days they used to swoop into battle and slaughter hordes of foes on the battlefield.
* * * * *
An hour later, the Witch-king and Khaműl were still chatting, stretched out on lawn chairs #4 had brought up from the cellars. #7, #8, and #9 had only one more flying steed to tether to the city's walls, and the sounds of blood-curdling massacre could be heard drifting out of the dungeons as #5 killed hundreds of orcs and #6 tossed their bodies out the window. And occasionally a large thump was heard as #3 and #4 tossed another paisley sofa to the ground far below.
Soon all of the flying beasts were tied to the walls of Minas Mor-go, half of the orcs were lying on the ground below, and every single paisley sofa had been ejected. The Ringwraiths gathered on top of the gate for what came next.
The Witch-king and Khaműl stood from their lawn chairs, pleased that they lightening of the city and the tethering of the beasts had finished so quickly.
"Attention, Ringwraiths!" said the Witch-king, "You shall now behold the first flying city in all of Arda!" He raised his hands to the heavans triumphantly, and laughed a deep, evil laugh. "Mwahahahahahahahaha!"
The flying beasts began to flap their great wings, and the city lurched to the side. The Ringwraiths hit the floor or grabbed onto whatever solid bit of the city they could find, as Minas Mor-go lurched and wobbled. The punctured tires left the ground. The city raised into the air. Behold! The flying city of Minas Mor-go!
The city righted itself and drifted away westwards. "Khaműl and I have decided," said the Witch-king, as the other Ringwraiths stood from their crouched positions, that Minas Mor-go, headed towards the High pass, will move in a southwest-ish direction, but a little more west than south. The important thing is that
we are headed for the High Pass."