A Close Call

[Faramir]

The enemies of his country passed by in waves, heading for the dreaded hell hole of Mordor. Something was certainly brewing as the volcano of Mt Doom continued to erupt on a daily basis, spewing molten lava and great plumes of toxic clouds. Faramir was in charge of stopping those enemies from entering that land, but his resources were thin and he could only limit their numbers, not stop them entirely; he wasn't his brother.

"Sir, enemies approaching; orcs and Uruk-hai. They're few in numbers."

It was their chance to strike and Faramir turned and immediately nodded, already setting his plan into motion. "Right, usual stations, we'll ambush them from this area. Fire on my shot." With no need for further instructions the rangers got into standard positions, staying out of sight and forming a zone of engagement from the two mountain sides that overlooked the road beneath the valley.

Faramir moved out, he'd be the first to fire and needed to move silently and through dead ground until he reached the perfect position; namely the area closest to where the Orcs would be coming from. His clothing and cloak presented the perfect camoflage in the mountains of Ithilien and he made the most of it. His ears did the work his eyes could not, listening in for the marching steps of the orcs and uruk-hai, finally able to hear them and knowing his position was now fine; he stopped and waited.

His sword was sheathed as one would expect and his bow drawn. Already an arrow lined up ready to be pulled and fired, yet he was a perfectionist and waited for those valuable last enemies to move into the zone of their impending death. His hand itched to kill his first foe of the day, he itched to once again protect his father's lands, but he had to wait.

He heard the final footstep move passed him and he sprang up from his hiding place and within that very second had aimed and fired towards the very front of the marching column of orcs, pierching the captain's head with his first shot. It was the shot that brought about the enemy's doom and the rangers too shot up from their hiding places and fired arrow after arrow down to meet the screetches and shocked faces of Mordor. Soon none would remain and Gondor would be safe... at least for the moment.

Faramir scanned the area, nodding at the devastation they had inflicted. It was then that a foreboding feeling crept into him and he turned his head, only to be forced to dive sideways and onto the painful rocks of the mountain as an arrow skimmed his body. Warg riders were coming, how did he not realise. Wargs riders were dangerous, but until that moment they had never been seen on top of such difficult terrain, but in their current position and the relatively flat tops of these specific mountains, the orcs had found an opportunity for a counter attack.

"Wargs! They wanted us to ambush here!"

Faramir bellowed and ran towards his allies, relying heavily on fate to get him through unscathed. The charge of the Warg's feet pounded in the air and Faramir knew they were gaining on him. The leader of the pack's feet grew louder, dangerously loud and Faramir was inevitably forced to once again dive to his side, narrowly avoided a slash to his back from the Orc's vicious blade. Thankfully his fellow rangers had heard their captain's shouts and came to his aid just in time, many of the numerous Warg's falling victim to Gondorian arrows, but they still continued to come.

The sword of the captain had long since been drawn after he picked himself up the ground and he since slain several of the deadly creatures and their riders, but even he, the brother of Boromir, could not hold back the riders forever and he had ordered the tactical retreat. His feet coursed with fatigue as he sprinted over the harsh terrain that he had grown accustomed to walk cautiously over.

The Rangers did what they had to do however, and eventually through the use of land to their advantage even the fast moving Wargs were unable to remove the Rangers of Ithilien from the land. It was just one moment in their ever difficult task.

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Armoul ul Legruh was silent. He had known of the attack on Ithilien, just as he had known of the warg attack. However, he decided to act on his own accord now. He had been sent north to Mordor, to accompany Mordor's armies, but Armoul decided to take a detour. He traveled to Ithilien not as much as to join the fight, but to check out these rangers that he had heard so much about, about how much problems they have been giving Saruman.

Armoul crouched low, climbing up walls quietly, the leather and cloth of his armor muffling any sounds that could be heard by the rangers. The wargs had attacked and now that was all Armoul needed. He jumped upon a small tower, hiding behind the wall, peaking out and watching the battle start. As the rangers did a good job of fighting the wargs, Armoul noted their battle tactics and their skills as warriors. And what he had seen so far he was very impressed.

He climbed further up the tower and into the top, where two rangers were shooting the wargs from above. He smiled slightly to himself and slipped on his claw. He thrusted his hand forward and the claws went straight through the ranger. The other one looked at his friend in confusion, and as he noticed the claw, started at the site of Armoul. Armoul slashed out, hoping to catch the man's throat, but the man jumped back, but he hit the edged and fell out of the tower, crying loudly as he fell. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, and didn't move.

Armoul knew that some of the other Ranger's probably had seen or heard that, so he immediately began to scale down the tower in hopes of retreating, he didn't feel like fighting an entire squad of Rangers today, especially ones so skilled. As soon as he hit the ground, he dived behind a wall and listened closely for any man or creature that would come near.

[Faramir]

The retreat had begun along with covering fire from the few towers the Gondor Rangers had around the area. The Orcs stood no chance and soon their numbers wavered, enough to drive any remnants back to their own lands or suffer certain death. Valiantly they fought and lost only a handful of lives, something Faramir would likely be cheered over at his return to Minas Tirith.

Still at the most rear of the retreat, Faramir was some far from his comrades and was close enough to hear the scream from the very tower Armoul ul Legruh had taken to. The younger brother of the famous Boromir turned his attention with the utmost concentration and confusion. His body turned and his legs stopped moving the way of his retreat, rather instead he began a new march, towards that very location.

The time it would take the dark-minded human to scale down the tower would likely be close to the time Faramir arrived at the scene. His breath taken away by fatigue, he seemed glad to stop when he slowed down before the fallen body, seemingly pushed or tragically fallen from the tower. His eyes looked up as he knelt down, conveying the scene to his brain, trying to piece it all together.

He spoke no words, confusion taking ahold of him as he looked from the tower to the dead ranger. The question was whether or not it was an accident, whether the man had simply fallen off the tower due to his own error, or whether this was the doing of an ally of Mordor, or indeed Mordor itself. He had faith in his men, he had faith in their abilities, it was so unlikely one of them had fallen from that tower so easily.

There were two men up there..."

His head relayed the information to him and glaring eyes once more shot up and realised there was no other visible, but then something triggered his anger, the sight of blood seaping through the old tower's balcony, the tell tale sign of something very arry. Faramir's sword was unsheathed and he stood up, looking around, expecting an ambush, expecting anything right at that moment.

"Come out." Faramir spoke through gritted teeth. "Not enough time has passed for you to have escaped unseen or unheard by me. Show yourself before my men regroup and return and finish you themselves. I am Faramir, captain of these Rangers, son of Denethor of Gondor."

A threat followed by his name and position, the possibility of killing Faramir would surely be too tempting to forget? Faramir hoped so anyway.

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Armoul had heard the man approach and announce his name. Armoul smirked a little, but understood the man's approach. He wanted to leave a last effect on his opponent, to announce his presence and name so that his opponent would remember him if either one of them got away or died. Either way, he knew that he'd have to face this man. With that, Armoul stood up and came out from behind the wall.

His mask wasn't on his face, so his hideous scarred face was showing with a twisted grin. His dark brown eyes were glinting with a sickening glee, "I am Armoul ul Legruh, Haradrim.", his accent was thick and heavy. Common Tongue didn't come naturally to him. He learned it in his studies, but he wasn't very good at it.

He stepped forward and nodded to his oppenent, a sign of respect, he lifted his hand and showed his claw. He grinned once more and put on his mask. He nodded once more to his oppenent before rushing forward. But as soon as he was in distance of Faramir, he jumped off towards the site and then back at Faramir with his claw extended. He hoped to test the grounds as he sliced at Faramir's right arm, better to cripple an opponent than to kill, leave the man shamed forever.

Armoul once more jumped back out of range of Faramir and prepared himself for the ranger's attack. He cracked his neck and said, "You rangers... Are good warriors. And you're captain, so that means you good. Let's have fun. I'm looking forward to battle."

[Faramir]

It wasn't absurd for the rangers of Ithilien to witness their commanding officer head off on his own, but never would they let him venture off alone for too long, eventually, or rather in short time that small army of master marksmen and vicious opponents of Mordor would find Faramir and likely strike the murderous Armoul down, should he take too long.

Unlike his opponent Faramir stood perfectly balanced, his method of offence was to remain as such, giving him the perfect platform to which attack or defend from. The Haradrim made his move and the ever thinking Gondor captain kept a close eye, realising then the man's true great weakness; his elaborate nature. First the man pushed forward, the moment heading in the direction of Faramir, before he jaunted sideways, already physics rebelled against the man's judgement, until a much slower than usual attack slashed towards the arm of Faramir.

Easy, far too easy for the Gondorian as with feet spread, left foot first and closer to the opponent, he took a quick step back, the claw uselessly slashing through the air. The weapon in question seemed strange to the eyes of one who had for so long witnessed only swords, axes, bows and spears and Faramir was clearly intrigued when he looked it over.

"Your greatest weakness is your greatest weapon. You try to strike like the mighty giant eagle, surprising the foe from an unseen angle, when instead you do little to worry me; a test perhaps?"

What use did Faramir have to engage in combat? The weapon looked deadly and likewise he had time on his side, his men would be here soon and the man would be killed regardless.

"The Rangers of Ithilien do not venture too far from their leader. I suggest you strike me down with a merciless attitude only Sauron himself could compete with, or suffer the fate of my comrades you so willingly took." Calm and well spoken, Faramir seemed almost regal in his looks and methods, though his words should worry the man in question, for they held great meaning. "Likewise I suppose your men too are close? Or do you merely challenge death with blind stupidity?"

Still his feet remained well placed, his sword in his right hand and ready to be used to defend, counter or attack should the situation present itself.

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Armoul smiled and nodded, "You right. Flashy yes. But not the only thing." Armoul stepped slightly forwards, and sparks began to shoot out from his claw. He smiled sickeningly and moved slowly and surely towards his opponent, completely different from the approach before. This probably was his greatest advantage, his knowledge of many different fighting styles. He had tested Faramir and he know had some knowledge of how this man defended. Now he moved slowly and methodically in circles around his enemy.

"I am Armoul ul Legruh, Haradrim. I'm notorious for being a fierce opponent, strong warrior, good commander. You right. My men not far behind, but looking for large battle I'm not. I came gather information. But with Mordor and Saruman I am not." This infact was the truth. He didn't feel like getting in a battle and he wasn't really with either of them yet. He had to rely on his lie and his own skill to survive here. If push came to shove, he would fight, but right now, he would try to get out alive.

"Didn't mean for your men to die, they were in perfect spot for intelligence. No other way since spotted me." He knew his common tongue was horrible. He rarely used it, but now he had to use it in hopes of defusing the situation. He hoped that this young ranger would believe him, for he in truth wasn't lying... much.

[Faramir]

Absurdity in the face of opposition was something Faramir did not cater for. He had his ideals when it came to warfare and they were respectful, honest and just; in other means his opponent showed a lack of respect and a wider thought of his own abilities than may well be true, though to judge the situation quite yet in its fullest was to be rash.

Eyes narrowed to show his concentration and his deep thought, Faramir was a mirror image of Armoul in so many ways. He listened intently and viewed the clawed weapon burst into flames, soon his own confident smile broadening, giving the tell tale signs of someone who knew no fear, and indeed Faramir was little impressed with the lightshow, but more curious on the man's other words.

"I am Armoul ul Legruh, Haradrim. I'm notorious for being a fierce opponent, strong warrior, good commander. You right. My men not far behind, but looking for large battle I'm not. I came gather information. But with Mordor and Saruman I am not."

Surely a ruse? Never had a southerner passed through the lands of Ithilien, faced the Ranges of Gondor and expected to live the tale or see the light of day? The man claimed his situational innocence, but that did not detract from the facts of his intrusion and the fact little the man spoke could be trusted upon.

"You kill my men... you appear from the smoke of war, near these orc-scum... you-..." Something stopped Faramir mid speech, his irritated eyes sparkled with intrigue even more than before before they delved into disbelief. "Saruman?! You speak like he fights on the side of the dark eye?!" His life of a ranger in the recent months had given him little news of information and knowledge of Saruman's corruption had not reached his ears until that moment.

Obviously the man was far too important to kill, given the circumstances and his own confidence in his ability, Faramir would have backed himself strongly to deliver that fatal blow, but there was undoubtedly more information he could gain from this supposed nomad. He would give the southerner the ultimatum, still with sword in hand and the steely eyes that the brother of Boromir should possess.

"Death, I am sure, is not a fate you wish. If what you speak is the truth and you are no more a threat than you let on then surrender your weapons, place them on the floor carefully and back away from them and make no other sound. Trust me when I say this; one false move and I will cut your head off."

He waited for the answer, fear or panic not words one could describe of his current mindset.

[Armoul ul Legruh (Marcus)]

Armoul knew that he had found a slight way out. Armoul nodded, "The rumors I heard are scary. Some say the wizard has gone mad. As I said, to gather information I came. On Saruman and anyone I come in contact with. The Harad aren't willing to give allegiance to the weak. " This was infact the truth, and from what Armoul had seen, he would rather aid the other men of middle earth, but he doubted his lords would follow such a plan.

Armoul lowered his weapon as a sign of not willing to fight, "Information with you I can share, sorry for the death of your men I am. Forgive me, I wish not to fight. I can call of army." Armoul lowered his head as a show of respect. He took off his claw but did not throw it on the ground. He placed it on a bag behind him, he hoped this was satisfactory,. He knew that Faramir's rangers were not far off, so it was time for him to find the only way out he could.


Armoul waited for the response of the ranger. Thoughts flew through his head at high speed, for he wasn't a hundred percent sure that he was willing to go with what the rest of Harad wanted. They all wanted to join Mordor, Armoul didn't know. The age of man was rumored to have come now, then how come the men of the south wanted to put an end to it? It questioned his mind and due to what their masters have done to them in the past... Armoul was teetering on rebellion. But... His brother had entrusted him with goal... he had to help the lord... But... Armoul snapped out of it and looked back up at the ranger and waited.