Tol Sirion was once a stronghold of the Elves, but now the lieutenant of Morgoth holds it within his dark grasp. Surveying all roads around his fortress, his sleepless eyes of fire pinpoint a peculiar presence sneaking through the land. You.

Suspicious, he thinks, before ordering his wolves to fetch him the stranger. No one wanders his land unaccounted for, nothing can hide from him. Gorthaur has you brought before him. Obligingly or not, you stand before him in all his might; a figure with a sable cloak on a throne of blood-darkened stone. The only thing that disrupts the gravelike silence of his halls is a faint susurrus of spirits and the howling of wolves in the dark. "Visiting these lands, art thou? How quaint. It is my will that all who pass through here must first answer to me. Surely thou knowest my rules."

He rises from his chair, a slender shadow of black. His voice is deep and hollow, like the sound of bones grating against stone. Draugluin, a grey wolf with glittering yellow eyes comes forth to join his master at his side. Gorthaur places a hand on the wolf's fur and strokes the beast. "Now tell; wherefrom hath thou came, and hitherto?"

Thû bends a flaming gaze on his visitor, trapping you better than any chains could. Wolves circle you slowly, like a slip knot. "Speak swiftly and speak true."