LOTR: The Mincraft Player

"What? What do you mean by that?"

Bard was still attempting to process the fact that Garrett had built such massive city walls all by himself, and before he could grasp it fully, the conversation had shifted to focus upon him.

"Of course I don't wish to see that happen. Even without war, the townspeople have already endured enough suffering."

"Then it's time for you to make a choice."

Garrett regarded him and explained, "Bard, as a descendant of Girion, Lord of Dale, you have the legitimate right to inherit this land. This is recognized throughout Middle-earth."

"Now, you need to give that up and transfer ownership of Dale to me. That way, I can guarantee your people's safety. On that, I give you my word."

Bard shook his head. "This place lies in ruins."

"So your answer is?"

"Before I respond, may I make a request?"

"Go ahead."

"I hope the townspeople can have a place to settle permanently, free from poverty, hunger, and homelessness."

"Ha."

Garrett couldn't help but chuckle and clapped Bard on the shoulder.

"I'm not some dark lord. You make it sound like I'm here to devour this place. The townspeople can live wherever they want. I'm not going to drive them out."

Looking at Garrett with a complex expression, then glancing at the old wizard who was sneaking glances while puffing his pipe, Bard let out a deep sigh.

"I have a strong suspicion you two are merely toying with me. Very well then, as a descendant of the Lord of Dale, I, Bard, do hereby swear to relinquish my claim to this land and grant it to Garrett."

"Witnessed and confirmed," Gandalf said from the side.

[Territory "Dale" successfully established]

[Number of Territories: 2]

"Congratulations on making the right choice. Next, I'm heading to the Lonely Mountain. See you in a bit."

"Wait for me! I'm coming as well. I wish to check on Thorin."

Gandalf put away his pipe and got ready to head down.

"You can catch up on your own."

"What?"

Whoosh.

With a burst of fireworks, Garrett had already equipped his elytra and soared far into the distance.

Gandalf's weathered face twitched slightly.

"I suspect I won't be able to keep pace with him anymore."

Moments later, a significant portion of the Lonely Mountain's mineral reserves had vanished, while in Dale, the townspeople suddenly noticed a company of three-meter-tall iron golems patrolling the streets.

Their heavy, metallic footsteps rang out loudly and clearly. Several young children, unfamiliar with such giant constructs, were so frightened they burst into tears at the sight.

The cries of the children quickly attracted the attention of several iron golems. They gathered around, towering over the children and gazing down at them.

Recalling the instructions from the wizard and Garrett, Bard suppressed the urge to draw his sword and even restrained several guards who were about to rush forward.

One of the golems extended an iron arm. At the end of that arm was a splash of bright color.

"Is that... a flower?"

Bard hadn't expected that.

Neither had the children. Their attention was instantly drawn to the vivid flowers in the golems' hands. They instinctively reached out to take them and then broke into smiles.

"Fear not!"

At that moment, Bard stood on high ground and shouted, "These golems were created by Garrett to protect us. They are our guardians!"

"Garrett? Is he a wizard?"

A curious townsperson asked. When magic was involved, most folk naturally thought of wizards.

"I'm not sure. But what I can tell you is this: the Garrett I speak of is the legendary figure of the wilds, the Bane of the Orcs, the master of wondrous construction, the mighty warrior, and the dragon slayer."

"Ohhh."

The townspeople released a chorus of amazed exclamations.

"Are those different people?"

Someone who hadn't heard of Garrett's reputation scratched their head and asked.

"No, all those titles refer to the same person."

Everyone around burst out laughing, and the one who asked turned bright red.

"He's got so many titles I can't even keep track."

That townsperson sighed to himself, but what he didn't realize was that Garrett wasn't the only thing in this world bearing countless names.

There were also the orcs of the Misty Mountains.

---

"This is a dangerous land, Tauriel. In ages past, our kindred fought battles upon this ground."

Atop a mountain peak near Mount Gundabad, Legolas stood against the wind, speaking to Tauriel of this land's history.

"My mother fell here. My father never speaks of her. There exists not even a grave. No memories. I possess nothing of her at all."

Tauriel found herself momentarily speechless.

Whoosh.

A large shadow swept across the sky. Legolas immediately pulled her down behind a boulder to hide.

"What are those things?"

"Fell beasts. They were bred for war. They serve as the eyes of the orcs."

BOOOOOM.

With the sound of a mighty war-horn, a vast army of well-equipped orcs poured forth from the fortress of Mount Gundabad, marching forward in perfect formation.

A tall and powerful orc stood above the rest, shouting commands, "Full speed! Show no mercy!"

"That's Bolg, spawn of Azog."

Legolas recognized him immediately, the very orc they had set out to track. But midway through their pursuit, he had suddenly vanished. Now the reason was clear, he had returned to Mount Gundabad to mobilize the army.

"We must return and warn them at once."

The two elves set off immediately, heading nonstop toward the Lonely Mountain.

But this time, fortune was not with them.

---

BOOM!

In a barren stretch of wilderness not far from the mountain, the earth trembled violently. Suddenly, a massive were-worm burst forth from underground, its razor fangs crushing the remaining boulders in its maw to powder before swallowing them.

As the giant tunneler burrowed back beneath the surface, it left behind a passage nearly ten meters wide and high.

There were no fewer than ten such tunnels. And they all led directly to the Lonely Mountain.

A warg-rider emerged swiftly from one of the tunnels and reported to the pale orc before him, "By tomorrow at the latest, our army will be in position and can reach the battlefield with great speed."

"Excellent."

Azog turned, casually speared a chunk of raw flesh, and fed it to the nearby White Warg.

"Those witless dwarves... they have long forgotten the ancient creatures dwelling beneath this land, the great earth-devourers from the deepest pits of Khazad-dûm."

"Were-worms."

Only after the White Warg had devoured the meat did Azog mount it and ride to a high vantage point, overlooking the formidable army from his homeland of Khazad-dûm.

In the mountain shadows, countless orcs and wargs stood in tight formations, prepared to charge.

On the slopes to either side stood siege-beasts, each seven to eight meters tall, with catapults mounted upon their backs. At least two orcs operated each one to direct their movements.

Behind the siege-beasts came modified abominations, eyes gouged out, arms replaced with chain-flails, legs amputated and fitted with spiked iron balls.

There were also "smaller" trolls, three to four meters in height, wielding clubs nearly the size of a grown man, clearly devastating in their power.

And still, that wasn't all.

Behind those trolls stood elite Olog-hai, fully clad in steel armor, with hardly any flesh exposed. Larger than common trolls, with hide harder than stone, they feared not even sunlight. Even without armor, ordinary weapons could never hope to wound them.

They were absolute masters of the battlefield, Sauron's latest breeding experiments.

If they were unleashed as the vanguard, they would sweep everything before them like a dark tide.

Just thinking about the enemies they would soon face, Garrett, over in Dale, sped up his iron golem summoning process.

Just as he was once again drawing from the Lonely Mountain's mineral reserves, summoning hundreds more golems, Bard hurried over and called his attention, "Look there."

Garrett paused his work and followed Bard's gaze. Across the plains, a field of golden figures shimmered under the sun, dazzling and radiant.

"Elves," Garrett exhaled, momentarily putting down his work.

"It's the army of the Woodland Realm. They have arrived."