LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

"What… what do you mean by that?"

Bard was still reeling. It wasn't every day you watched someone build a fortress wall single-handedly. The ruined town of Dale, still smoldering in places, now stood protected behind towering stone ramparts - and Eric was responsible for all of it. And now, somehow, the conversation had turned to him.

"I never wanted war," Bard said, voice firm despite the uncertainty in his eyes. "Even without it, the people here have suffered enough."

"Then it's time to make a choice," Eric replied quietly, his gaze steady.

He stepped closer.

"You're the last living descendant of Girion, Lord of Dale. That gives you a rightful claim to this land, recognized by every remaining kingdom."

Bard's brow furrowed. He could already see where this was going.

"I'm asking you to relinquish that claim," Eric continued. "Transfer ownership of Dale to me. In return, I'll ensure your people's safety. On that, I give you my word."

Bard shook his head, glancing at the ruined buildings behind them. "This place is still a wreck."

"So, is that a 'no'?"

Bard hesitated. "Before I answer… may I ask for something?"

Eric nodded. "Speak."

"I want these people to have a real home. Somewhere they won't have to keep fighting hunger, cold, or the fear of losing everything again."

Eric blinked, then gave a dry chuckle and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm not some mustache-twirling villain, Bard. You make it sound like I'm here to devour the town."

He smirked. "They can live wherever they want. I'm not kicking anyone out."

Bard looked between Eric and the old man nearby who was pretending not to listen while puffing on his pipe. He let out a long sigh.

"I get the feeling the two of you are messing with me."

Still, he stood tall, voice solemn and resolute. "Then I, Bard of Dale, descendant of Lord Girion, hereby renounce my claim and pass it to Eric."

"Deal sealed," Gandalf murmured, exhaling a long stream of smoke.

[New Territory Acquired: Dale]

[Total Controlled Territories: 2]

"Congratulations on making the smart choice," Eric said with a wink. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a quick trip to Erebor."

"Wait, I'm coming too," Gandalf said, already adjusting his robes. "I was planning to check in on Thorin anyway."

"You can catch up later," Eric called over his shoulder.

"What?"

Fwoosh!

A burst of light shot skyward as Eric activated his winged glider and soared off like a firework.

Gandalf's eye twitched. "At this rate, I'll never keep up with that boy."

---

Back in Erebor, several vaults mysteriously grew lighter.

And back in Dale, the townsfolk soon noticed… something odd.

Towering three meters tall, figures of iron marched through the streets. Their heavy metal steps echoed across the cobblestones like distant war drums.

Children screamed and scrambled behind barrels or clung to their mothers.

The golems stopped.

A tense silence fell.

Just when the townspeople braced for the worst, the massive constructs extended their iron arms… revealing bright, colorful flowers clasped gently in their hands.

"Are those… flowers?" Bard blinked, caught off guard.

So were the children. Fear gave way to fascination. One brave girl stepped forward, accepted a bloom, and grinned. The others followed, faces lighting up with joy.

Bard climbed onto a cart and called out, "Everyone, there's nothing to fear! These golems were built by Eric - to protect us. They're allies!"

"Eric? Is he some kind of wizard?" someone shouted.

"I don't know what he is," Bard said with a smile. "But I can tell you this: he's the one the wilds whisper about. The Orc-Bane. The one who builds wonders. The dragonslayer - Eric Starfell."

A collective gasp rose.

"All those titles belong to one man?" a stunned townsman asked.

"Yes, they do," another laughed, and soon, the crowd erupted into chuckles.

"Too many names for one bloke," someone muttered. "I can't keep up!"

Meanwhile…

Far to the west, in the wind-scoured heights of the Misty Mountains, another storm was brewing.

"This land is cursed," Legolas said quietly, scanning the snow-covered peaks. "In the last Age, our kin bled for every stone here."

He paused.

"My mother died in these mountains."

Tauriel looked over, startled.

"My father never speaks of her," he continued. "No grave. No songs. Just silence. She's a ghost even to memory."

Tauriel had no words. She reached out but hesitated.

Whoosh!

Suddenly, a massive shadow flew overhead. Legolas yanked her behind a boulder.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"Bats," he said grimly. "The kind bred for war. Orc scouts use them."

BWAAHHHH!

A deep war horn thundered across the peaks. The fortress of Gundabad roared to life.

From its gates spilled waves of armored Orcs, marching in perfect unison.

On a rocky ledge above them stood a hulking figure, barking orders in a voice that rattled the stones.

"Advance at full speed!"

"Bolg," Legolas hissed. "Azog's son. We've been tracking him. Now we know why he vanished."

He'd gone to summon an army.

"We have to get back. Warn the others."

They turned and sprinted, but time was already slipping through their fingers.

Beneath them, the earth trembled.

RUMBLE!

A massive worm burst from the cracked mountainside, its jagged maw pulverizing stone as it tunneled effortlessly through solid rock. It vanished just as quickly, leaving behind a ten-meter-wide tunnel.

Then another worm.

And another.

A dozen such tunnels all pointed in the same direction - toward Erebor.

A warg-rider emerged from one and knelt before a towering figure clad in pale iron.

"Master, the tunnels are complete. The army will arrive by dawn."

"Good," Azog the Defiler growled, tossing a bloodied slab of meat to his white warg. It snapped it up, lips curling in a bloody grin.

"Those foolish dwarves. They've forgotten what sleeps beneath the earth. The burrowers from Moria…"

He spat. "Earth Worms."

He mounted the beast and rode to a ridge overlooking the battlefield.

Below him stood an ocean of Orcs. Wargs snarled and pawed at the dirt. Siege beasts lumbered forward, catapults strapped to their backs.

And behind them came the monsters.

Blind, limbless war-beasts that rolled forward, their mutilated bodies fitted with flails and spikes.

Trolls, three meters tall, marched with clubs bigger than men.

And looming even higher, the Olog-hai—iron-clad titans, immune to sunlight and bred for one purpose: slaughter.

Back in Dale…

Eric's golems picked up their pace. The air buzzed with magic.

He'd just finished draining another vault in Erebor and summoned hundreds more constructs when Bard came running up, eyes wide.

"Eric—look!"

Eric followed his gaze.

On the horizon, a golden shimmer marched beneath the morning sun.

"Elves," he murmured.

He stood tall, watching as banners fluttered in the wind.

"The Woodland Realm has come."