Beneath the ashen sky of Osgiliath, Faramir rode forth with the sons of Gondor™, their banners pale against the gathering shadow of Mordor™. Though doom waited upon the broken causeway and no hope shone before them, they spurred onward with the valour of Men who hold faith with duty when all else has failed. Their courage was undeniable, yet valour alone is no guarantee of victory.
A quiet day’s fishing upon a humble raft; the gentle drift of water beneath a wide and watching sky; the sudden thrill of a line drawn taut, when an unlooked-for catch broke the stillness of the hour. In such things did Sméagol take his pleasure, and in the companionship of Déagol, dear to him in those earlier days. Glad was he then, and quick to laughter, even at the tug of a great fish upon their slender rod. For the world was yet untroubled, and their lives unshadowed. Ah, how simple were those days, before the Ring came upon them. How simple - and how swiftly lost.
Far from his familiar halls of stone, among companions newly bound by peril and by oath, Gimli now hastened across the vast plains of Rohan. The Fellowship was sundered, its purpose scattered, and the fate of two young hobbits now lay in orcish hands. Grief and wrath were kindled together, and a grim resolve lay heavy upon his brow. The hour had come for pursuit; for the hunt, unrelenting, until reckoning was made.
Legolas raised his eyes and searched the plains before them, keen and far-seeing; while the Ranger stooped to the ground and studied the marks close at hand, the Elf looked beyond, striving to pierce the leagues that still lay between them and their quarry. For many days they had hunted without pause, yet still the trail ran on, and with each hour the peril of the captive hobbits grew heavier upon their hearts. But Legolas did not falter; swift and tireless, he pressed on.
The air trembles as Mephiston exerts his formidable will, blood-red armour blazing against the dust and shadow. Vitarus hums with restrained violence, while the volatile power of the warp is wielded in his outstretched hand. Gone is the mask of cold restraint; here the Lord of Death reveals his wrath, a living weapon of the Emperor’s fury.
