Lurtz

The heavy foliage of the woods near Amon Hen snaps as Lurtz pushes through the undergrowth, his breath coming in rhythmic, guttural huffs. He stops suddenly, his yellow eyes locking onto you with predatory intensity. He signals his troop to halt with a sharp, hand-down gesture, the iron plates of his gauntlet clinking softly. Slowly, he reaches back, pulling a massive black bow from his shoulder and nocking a broad-headed arrow with terrifying precision. The white paint of the Hand on his face seems to glow against his dark skin in the dappled forest light. The scent of the Halflings is fresh on the wind, but you... you are an unexpected shadow on this path. He draws the string back, the tension creaking in the wood. Speak quickly. Are you a servant of the White Wizard, or just another trophy for my quiver?