LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

Eric handed Legolas a golden apple.

It wasn't much, really, but for someone like Eric who had just been gifted an entire swordsmanship module and a personal crash course from the prince of the Woodland Realm, it felt appropriate.

Elves seemed to love the shiny fruit. Elegant, rare, and surprisingly practical, the golden apple was a hit.

He had been handing out quite a few of these apples lately, but honestly, what else did he have? His inventory wasn't exactly overflowing with gift options, and the golden apples were abundant enough to share.

Legolas, for his part, looked pleased with the gift, though he did raise an eyebrow a few days later when Eric stopped coming to the training grounds.

Still, the elven prince couldn't really complain. Eric had taken to wandering the surrounding woods, chopping down spiders and stray orcs with the enthusiasm of a man harvesting cabbages.

Though he often muttered strange phrases like "gotta grind loot" and "low drop rate again," his actions spoke louder than words.

The elves took notice, and even if they didn't understand his terminology, they respected what he was doing.

His efforts clearly benefited the Woodland Realm, and that was enough to earn their quiet approval.

"This drop rate's brutal."

Deep in the forest, Eric sliced through yet another spider and frowned.

He had exterminated over a hundred of the eight-legged horrors in recent days, clearing out multiple nests, and now his inventory was overflowing with spider eyes. Unfortunately, all that effort had only earned him a second-level upgrade to his swords skills and a single dodge-skill orb.

He sheathed his sword with a sigh and began making his way back toward the Elvenking's halls. Tomorrow was the Starfall Feast, and it was also the agreed-upon day to regroup.

As he approached the palace, Eric paused. A strange feeling tugged at him.

"I've noticed a large number of orcs massing near the eastern edge of the forest," he reported to Thranduil later. "They seem to be searching for something."

That was concerning. The eastern border led toward the River Running and Lake-town, a key trade route for the Woodland Realm. Orcs lurking there could only mean trouble.

Eric wasted no time. Upon returning, he delivered the intelligence directly to King Thranduil, who assured him the matter would be taken seriously. Without delay, Eric then set out for Dol Guldur.

The next day, the Starfall Feast began as planned.

The palace bustled with elven merriment. Barrels of fine wine were rolled into the hall, and cups were raised high. Music filled the air. Spirits soared.

Then came the news that soured it all.

"The dwarves escaped."

The moment those words reached Thranduil, he stopped mid-sip and set down his goblet.

"Legolas," the king said calmly. "Lead a patrol. Head toward the river's mouth and deal with any orcs you find..."

He paused, seeming to weigh his next words carefully.

"Make sure they don't ruin our feast."

Legolas tilted his head slightly. "And the dwarves?"

"Let them drift downriver," Thranduil said coolly. "Their fate no longer concerns me. Alive or dead, it makes no difference."

Then, as the prince turned to leave, the king added, "Bring back a live orc if you can. I have questions that need answers."

Legolas nodded without protest and departed with a squadron of elven warriors.

Thranduil remained on his throne, deep in thought.

Dol Guldur.

Once a settlement of the Silvan elves, it had been abandoned after the great migrations in the Second Age. In recent centuries, however, a dark power had claimed the ruined fortress.

Outwardly, it looked silent and dead. No sound, no movement. Just crumbling stone and tangled roots.

But this lifeless facade was a calculated deception.

Even the rumors of a "Necromancer" were likely part of the ruse, meant to sow confusion and buy time.

Eric stepped lightly over rotting leaves and brittle twigs, approaching the blackened gates of Dol Guldur.

"Gandalf?" he called out. "Running late again?"

"No."

The voice came from behind a stone pillar.

Gandalf emerged, his grey robes billowing in the cold breeze, and beside him stood another wizard in brown, with bird droppings on his shoulder and an agitated squirrel on his head.

Radagast.

"A wizard is never late," Gandalf intoned with his usual dramatic flair.

"Exactly," Radagast chirped. "With my rabbits, everyone else is just slow!"

Gandalf leaned in close. "Eric, I'm nearly certain. The enemy is here."

The three huddled, voices low.

"There's a concealment spell over the entire fortress," Gandalf said. "That tells us he hasn't regained full strength. He's still hiding, biding his time."

"Radagast," Gandalf continued, "you must go to Lothlórien. Ask the Lady for aid. We need reinforcements, and fast."

"Just don't follow us inside," he added with firm eyes. "Eric and I will investigate alone."

Radagast blinked. "So I'm the messenger now, huh?"

Gandalf smiled. "You're the fastest. That counts."

"Fine, fine," the brown wizard grumbled, climbing aboard his absurdly fast rabbit-sled. "I'll be back before supper."

With that, he was gone in a blur of fur and squeaking wheels.

Eric turned to Gandalf. "So… we're going in alone?"

"There's no other option," Gandalf said, drawing his gleaming blade, Glamdring, while clutching his staff in the other hand. "We must understand what Sauron is planning."

Eric's hand hovered near his own sword. "You sure we shouldn't wait for backup?"

"There's no time. If he's truly here, we can't allow him to prepare in silence."

Eric hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But the second things get weird, we run. Deal?"

"Deal," Gandalf said solemnly. "I'm not throwing my life away today."

They moved cautiously through the main gate.

Inside Dol Guldur, the world felt… wrong.

The sky above never changed. No sun, no moon. Just a permanent gray gloom.

As they crept deeper, Eric noticed the cages.

Rusting iron cells lined the walls, filled with bones, some human, some not.

The victims had long perished, but the signs of torture lingered. It wasn't about information or control. The orcs had simply enjoyed the cruelty.

Gandalf stopped beneath one cage, gazing up at it with haunted eyes.

"This is where I found Thrain," he said quietly. "He'd been missing for five years. Tortured until he forgot his name. He gave me the map and key… then died shortly after."

Eric looked around, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword.

And then--

A blur of shadow streaked past.

Eric spun, weapon half-drawn. Nothing.

Gandalf turned to speak, but before the words left his lips, a blade materialized behind him, lunging for his heart.

Clang!

Two swords met the shadow's weapon at once, Eric's nameless blade and Gandalf's Glamdring, perfectly in sync.