LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

When a dungeon demands you follow its mechanics, but you insist on bulldozing through with stats way above the current patch level... yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

Trying to stand toe-to-toe against that endless horde with such a disparity in numbers was sheer madness. Honestly, in this entire world, only Eric would even attempt it.

Hold? They could hold. The walls were strong.

Outlast? They could outlast the Orcs.

From the looks of it, the forces inside Erebor were fully prepared for a long, drawn-out war. They had water, they had supplies, and they weren't short on patience. The enemy, on the other hand, would keep throwing bodies into the meat grinder until morale broke—or someone gave up.

Odds were, the Orcs would crack first.

The problem? A war that dragged on for months or even a year would be a nightmare. Tedious, bloody, exhausting and Eric didn't have the luxury of waiting to see how many curveballs fate had left.

Actually, scratch that.

One such curveball had already arrived.

Eric narrowed his eyes at the distant army. Orcs were swarming around a construction site at the rear of their formation.

Giant siege ladders.

Eric sighed. "You know… I'm starting to think this whole battle scales with difficulty."

"What's that supposed to mean?" came Gandalf's voice. He'd just finished off another Orc and was now climbing the wall to stand beside Eric.

"It means this needs to end. Soon."

When the rest of the dwarves returned from their skirmish, the city leaders gathered once again on the gate's battlements. Eric was the first to break the silence.

"We can't keep stalling."

He pointed toward the enemy rear lines.

"They're building something different."

"Siege ladders," Thorin confirmed grimly.

Thranduil added, "Orcs have an uncanny talent for crafting tools of war and torture alike. It's practically their art form."

"They were made for it."

"They won't get up the walls," Bard interjected, gesturing to the firework-loaded crossbows mounted behind him. "Those ladders show up, and we'll blast them apart one by one."

"Sure," Gandalf replied, "but have you counted how many Orcs are out there? How many shots do you think you'll get before you run out of bolts?"

Bard looked at Eric. Eric turned to Thorin. Thorin squirmed under the attention and finally muttered, "We don't have that much firepowder."

After what happened the last time he claimed Erebor had 'limitless' resources, Thorin had learned to tread carefully.

Besides, in a world where firearms were niche curiosities and bombs hadn't even been invented, gunpowder wasn't exactly high priority. The small stockpile used to craft flameburst bomb was practically Erebor's entire reserve.

"What's your plan then?" Gandalf asked.

Eric cracked his knuckles. "Same as before. Cut off the head."

Orcs were chaotic by nature. Without a leader breathing down their necks, they'd start fighting each other before they even noticed an enemy at the gates.

Gandalf knew that all too well. He'd made a career out of stirring chaos in Orc encampments.

"We've been on the receiving end long enough," Eric said. "Time to hit back."

The only problem? The enemy commander's location was heavily guarded.

Above, swarms of bats patrolled the skies. Below, squads of archers stood watch near the command tower. Flying over with his elytra would be suicide.

The skies were out.

Charging straight through the frontlines? With tens of thousands of Orcs in the way, that path was blocked by sheer body mass alone. Even if they didn't fight back, they'd be enough to clog the road like sentient barricades.

So…

Eric glanced at the pickaxe slung over his back.

If he dug deep enough, maybe he could tunnel beneath the Orc camp and pop up right under Azog's feet. A surprise from underground would definitely ruin the White Orc's day.

Of course, tunneling under a mountain was no small feat. The distance, the density of the rock, it would take hours. Days, even. And who was he kidding? It's not like he had a 3D minimap with Azog's location conveniently marked.

"We can cover you."

Eric turned. Dáin Ironfoot stepped up, pointing at the war machines parked beneath the wall.

"See those chariots? They'll cut through enemy lines like nothing you've seen. Unless the Orcs dig up another war beast, there's nothing out there that can stop them."

"Not that they have many beasts left," Gandalf added. "Most were spent during the last few assaults."

"My lads can escort you to the base of the mountain ruins. After that, I trust you'll manage."

Dáin had seen Eric in action earlier. The man had plowed through Orcs like a lawnmower through tall grass. And that armor? Practically indestructible. Dáin had half a mind to pry it off and examine the materials.

But now wasn't the time for curiosity. Right now, his hammer and his faith were both behind Eric.

"I'm coming too," Thorin announced suddenly.

He wasn't about to let someone else claim Azog's head.

"We're coming with you," said Kili and Fili in unison.

"And us! We'll drive the chariots!"

The rest of the Company stepped forward without hesitation. After surviving so many battles, they were among the finest Erebor had to offer.

Balin gave a calm, confident smile. "I may be old, but my aim's still sharp. I won't waste a single bolt."

Eric looked at them all, clearly impressed, and nodded. "That's the spirit."

He glanced at Gandalf, who gave him a knowing look that said, I've got the walls covered.

"If any more beasts show up," the wizard promised, "I'll deal with them. You focus on your part."

"Alright then."

The plan was simple.

Thranduil, Bard, Dáin, and Gandalf would hold the city. Eric, Thorin, the Company, and a dwarf strike team in the chariots would punch through and go for Azog's throat.

Just as they were preparing to roll out, loading up their crossbows and checking supplies, a voice called out from behind.

"And me."

It was Bilbo.

Thorin blinked, then burst into laughter. He leapt from the war chariot and walked over.

"Master Baggins," he said, "this is not your kind of party."

"You're a hobbit. Your place is in a garden, with afternoon tea, soft cushions, and a good book. Not on a battlefield."

Bilbo opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked flustered.

"I…"

"We'll meet again. But not out there."

"I can help!" Bilbo insisted, chasing after him, only to be blocked by Gandalf.

"Bilbo," the wizard said gently, "I've never doubted your courage. But you know what's out there, don't you?"

"War. Blood. Death."

"You've done enough already. Truly. Now it's time to trust your friends."

"Hey, you!"

Gandalf turned to a nearby human soldier, who had been trying very hard to blend into the wall.

"You. Yes, you. Keep an eye on this hobbit. Don't let him leave."

"Y-yes, sir! You can count on me!"

The man ran over with his head ducked, refusing to meet anyone's gaze, like he was hiding something. Not that Gandalf noticed. He was already back on the wall, staring into the sky, as if waiting for something.

The interruption passed.

At the gates, soldiers gripped the levers, ready to unleash the fury.

"Children of Durin!" Thorin roared as he drew his blade. "Charge with me!"

With a mechanical hiss, the levers dropped.

The gates of Erebor swung open.

Out roared five monstrous chariots, plated in jagged metal and bristling with automatic crossbows. They'd been kept back during the defensive battles, but now was the time to let them shine.

Behind the chariots came the goat riders. Heavily armored dwarves mounted on beasts with curved, battle-worn horns. Each rider was hand-picked by Dáin himself, veterans soaked in blood and steel.

"Encircle them!" Azog howled from his tower. "Surround them!"

Charging out of their walls like this? Suicidal.

Did they not see the tens of thousands of Orcs out here?

Where did they even get the nerve?