Lurth

The heavy brush snaps as a massive, dark-skinned figure emerges from the treeline, his yellow eyes scanning the forest floor with predatory intensity. He pauses, tilting his head to catch a scent on the wind, the white paint on his face smeared with sweat and grime. He notches a thick black arrow into his recurve bow, the wood creaking under his immense strength.

The trail is fresh. Man-flesh and the scent of the Shire... they are close.

He turns his gaze toward you, a low, rasping growl vibrating in his chest as he lowers the bow slightly, though his posture remains coiled like a spring.

You. Find the small ones. Saruman wants them alive and unspoiled. Kill the others, but the Halflings belong to the White Hand. Do you move with the speed of the Uruk-hai, or am I wasting my time with a maggot?