The man stopped, standing still, not unlike a statue, as if some sort of spell had just frozen him. He narrowed his eyes as he recognized what was before him, the beast that had already defeated him once: a Warg, as big as a horse and black as the night. It could be any black Warg, especially since the last time it was in the Lone-Lands, miles away... but Ildrand knew it was that Warg. The same size, the same growl, the same eyes.
He could only draw his sword before the beast was upon him. He felt a terrible pain as he fell on his back: the six arrows had now pierced all the way through his body, and they were now poking out of his chest and belly. This time, the beast's aim didn't fail. Its teeth found an easy way through Ildrand's neck, tearing the flesh with ease, as if it wasn't even attached to the man's body.
Suddenly, he found himself laying on his belly. He felt the warg's paw on his back... and... something pecking on his eyebrow? Another warg stepped on his back... was it actually a warg? No, no.... It was too light. It was pushing against one of the arrows, causing an immense pain. And that pain was the last thing Ildrand could feel... before opening his eyes.
He was again on the road, after being forced to not move for... one month? Two? As if the arrows in his back were not enough, a man broke some of his ribs with the blunt end of an axe... But the woman saved his life. Twice. A broken bone is always better than death. He wasn't fully healed yet, but Isengard wasn't far away, and he hoped that his latest misadventures had refilled his luck supply. He didn't even have his armor anymore. The only thing that could be between him an death, now, was his sword.
And it was more than enough. Nothing had been in the middle of his way until he saw the tower, tall enough to challenge the sky itself - or so it seemed. It wasn't hard to find the entranceway, but it didn't lead to a welcoming sight.
An orc, bald and black of skin, had its oblique eyes fixed upon the man. It would take his short sword in hand and walk towards the man. It stood straight and proud, unlike any other orc, and something about it suggested that it in facts was unlike any other orc.
"A fool dares to enter the land of the Old Man! Who are you, fool?"
If Ildrand was blind, he would have had a hard time telling that the figure before him was an orc, for the voice was far too bright to come from one of those filthy beings, yet it would have been remarkably deep and dark for a man.
"The fool is Ildrand Berrywine, he comes from the North and serves the Old Man" Ildrand answered.
The orc was already at arm's length, its height matching the man's, and its angry eyes staring into his.
"I don't like you, Ildrand Berrywine, I don't like you one bit. I would really enjoy to cut your throat and feed your corpse to the dogs, but I won't risk killing you, if you really work for the Old Man. I will bring you to him, but say goodbye to your head if anything you just said proves wrong. Go on, in front of me! Don't even try to convince me that you're dumb enough to take the wrong turn!"
