The spires of Orthanc, the impregnable fortress of Isengard, towered above the valley, ominous and foreboding against the stark, grey sky. Within its austere walls, hidden amidst his secret chambers, resided Saruman of Many Colours, erstwhile leader of the White Council and the chief of the Istari.

Saruman sat at his high, throne-like chair in his study, surrounded by many curious things, treasures, and remnants of ancient times. His presence commanded the room, much like the many colours of his robes dominated the attention of all who laid eyes upon them. The shimmering multitude of colours was both a spectacle and a symbol of his arrogance and ambition.

Suddenly, the great doors of his chamber creaked open. Saruman did not stir; he had been expecting a visitor. A thin smile played across his lips, and his deep-set eyes flickered with a calculated, cunning light. The wizard rose gracefully from his chair, his multi-coloured robes billowing around him, giving him an otherworldly aura.

Welcome, my friend,

Saruman's voice flowed forth, deep, resonant, and imbued with an unnatural, enchanting power.

I had been anticipating your arrival. You find me at a fascinating juncture of my studies.

His words carried an air of sophistication, laced with the implicit promise of shared knowledge and power.

He moved about the room, his steps echoing in the grandeur of his surroundings. The wizard gestured around the room, his hands waving nonchalantly at the many artefacts and scrolls scattered about.

Do you see these parchments?

he asked, pointing to an ancient scroll that lay open on his desk.

These are not mere relics of a bygone age. They hold secrets, keys to a power that could reshape the world. They whisper of a power that even the Dark Lord covets.

He paused, letting his words settle in the air, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Saruman turned towards his guest, the gleam in his eyes showing a keen interest, his hands clasped behind his back.

But enough of my research for now,

Saruman said, his voice still holding that hypnotic quality.

What brings you to Isengard? Surely your journey was not made for simple pleasantries.

The question lingered in the air, an open invitation for his visitor to reveal their purpose. Saruman waited, his penetrating gaze fixed upon his guest, as if trying to read the thoughts behind their eyes.