LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

"Eric! Hold up!"

On the eastern edge of the Misty Mountains, near the broad valleys of the River Anduin, Eric had just finished carving his way through a battalion of orcs and a pack of snarling wargs. All that remained was a single bruised and battered orc lieutenant, struggling to stay conscious.

Gandalf rushed over, catching his breath as he looked down at the sole survivor.

"I was starting to think you'd forgotten why we're here," he said, eyeing Eric with a mixture of concern and faint amusement.

"Relax," Eric replied, calmly sheathing his glowing blade. "I know how to hold back. Mostly."

Gandalf stepped forward, staff pressed firmly against the orc's chest to prevent any sudden lunges. The orc glared up with bloodshot eyes, teeth bared.

"Filthy creature," Gandalf growled. "Speak. Why are you lot crawling out of your holes again? What are you planning?"

The orc snarled, drool mixing with blood. "You cursed spell-flinger… one day, we'll flay the flesh off your bones and wear your beard like a trophy—"

WHACK!

Gandalf's staff came down with enough force to turn a boar's skull into soup. The orc let out a choking gasp, now little more than a wheezing sack of meat.

"I'll ask again," Gandalf said coldly. "Tell us your purpose, and I might make your end swift."

"We'll… wipe this whole valley clean. Every last human… gone. Everything… ours…"

Gahhhkk—

With that final, spiteful declaration, the orc keeled over and died with a sneer still frozen on his face.

Eric looked over at Gandalf. "Wait… there are still people living in this area?"

The old wizard nodded slowly, his brows creasing in thought.

"There are, or were. A few scattered settlements, most long abandoned. Long ago, before the darkness crept back into the land, this valley thrived. The forests were green and vast—people called it Greenwood the Great, not the accursed Mirkwood it is today."

Eric listened, arms folded.

"Back then," Gandalf continued, "free folk—humans, hobbits, even the odd dwarf, lived along these rivers. Many fled when the shadows returned, but not all. Some remained. Some are still wandering. Some… simply didn't make it out in time."

Eric frowned. "Then we've got to do something."

He barely finished the sentence before Gandalf stepped forward, smacking the orc's corpse one last time for good measure. "Exactly. We need to warn any remaining villagers and help them escape before the orcs get to them."

Eric, however, stood his ground. "Hold on. We don't need to go warn anyone. You can do that part."

Gandalf paused mid-step and turned. "And what exactly will you be doing?"

Eric grinned. "I'll just go wipe out the orcs. That should solve the root of the problem, don't you think?"

Gandalf gave him a long look.

Normally, if someone else had said something so arrogant, the wizard would've bopped them on the head with his pipe until they saw reason.

Because, really—taking on thousands of orcs? Alone?

Suicide.

Usually.

But this was Eric. And if the orcs weren't clustered too tightly together… maybe he could pull it off.

Gandalf finally nodded. "All right. Just don't go getting yourself turned into orc stew. I'll return once I've done my part."

"Safe travels, old man."

"Same to you, swordsman."

And just like that, they parted ways—one headed east to warn the innocent, the other straight into the maw of the enemy.

Eric opened up his enchanted map. The entire region was shrouded in fog of war.

"Perfect," he muttered. "Time to do some... aggressive cartography."

Later that night

A lone orc kicked down a crooked fence and tossed a torch into a wooden hut. Flames licked skyward as smoke began to pour out into the night.

The orc grumbled, his lumpen face even uglier under the flickering light.

"Bah! Another ghost village!"

"Where's that cursed scout? Didn't he say there were people here?"

A hunched, nervous orc scurried over. "I-I swear I saw firelight earlier! Maybe they're hiding!"

Just then, another orc came running with news—something had been spotted at the edge of the village.

The squad's lieutenant stomped over to investigate.

Fresh ashes still warm. Clothes drying on a line. A stewpot still bubbling.

"Someone was here recently. Spread out. Find them!"

But before they could scatter, a nearby warg growled, ears pinned back in alarm. Its snout pointed toward the shadows.

Out of the darkness emerged a figure cloaked in plain linen robes, face calm.

"Aha!" barked the orc lieutenant. "Gotcha!"

Wargs leapt forward, tongues lolling in anticipation. Orcs raised crude blades, dreaming of roast human.

Then—a faint hum.

A blue light flickered. The man smiled.

Wait. That smile…

The orc lieutenant yanked back on his mount's reins. "Retreat! Retreat!"

Too late.

When the flames finally died down, the battlefield was a scorched graveyard of wargs and orcs. The stench of burnt hair filled the air.

Eric stood at the center, brushing soot off his sleeves.

"Tch. Clever one got away. Should've brought a horse."

Still, the pace suited him. He continued sweeping through the area, methodically uncovering villages, camps, and orc patrols one by one—like peeling away layers on a massive, bloody game board.

Elsewhere…

"Chief! We saw campfires in a village nearby! Should we raid it?"

The escort squad was already buzzing with excitement. Orcs patted their bellies. Wargs drooled.

But at the rear, some of the human prisoners, limping, bound, their eyes sunken—shuddered.

More victims.

No matter how many warnings Gandalf gave, no matter how many orcs Eric cut down, there were always more. Especially these—special units tasked with rounding up human slaves. Bigger numbers. Meaner teeth.

The orc lieutenant raised a hand, signaling quiet. "Fires? Just one or many?"

The scout scratched his bulging skull. "Lots! More than a few houses had them!"

"Were the buildings old or new?"

"Old, but… weirdly tidy. Saw laundry drying in the yard."

"Any weeds along the road?"

The scout blinked. "Nope. Path was clean. Could see everything."

"Perfect."

The lieutenant grinned, revealing broken fangs.

"This isn't a trap—it's a real village! Leave the prisoners under guard. The rest of you, with me! Time to feast!"

The horde roared and charged.

But when they reached the village and kicked down doors…

Nothing.

No people.

Just burning hearths and fresh clothing.

"What the hell is this?" one orc grunted.

Before anyone could answer—

Screams erupted behind them.

From the rear guard.

Orcs and wargs—on fire—soared through the air like grotesque fireworks.

They hit the ground hard, thrashing.

The night lit up in red.