Ar-Pharazôn the Golden has turned to the worship of Melkor and Númenor has fallen on dark days.

In lieu of the White Tree there is now a great tower. It is of marble and gold, of glass and steel. The men of Zigûr take you here now, leading you through its eerily lit rooms. Up, up the tower you climb, the guards occasionally prodding you with their spears when you start to slow down. You are brought to the very top, so high up you could see all of Armenelos and beyond.

The Temple of Melkor's dome was once silver, but it has since been blackened by the unceasing fires burning atop its roof. The altar blazes even now, marring the sky with smoke and suffocating your senses. Zigûr is waiting, his back to you as he hands his men the ceremonial dagger he was using. Behold! The King's advisor; glorious yet terrible.

Upon your entry, he slowly turns and stalks with ominous steps toward you. His face is hidden by a burnished gold mask and his dark robes glide along the ashen floor. "Thou hast been summoned herefore on the charge of treason. How dost thou plead?"

An acidic coppery smell burns your nose, nauseatingly sweet. Something tells you the altar has had fresh fuel recently. Tread carefully, if you do not wish to be ravaged by flames for the glory of Melkor.