Lord of the Rings: Warriors

In the First Age, goblins, wielding the wonders of alchemy, sailed across the Herkan Inland Sea to reach the Eastern Mountains. 

There, they thrived, multiplied, and built a kingdom. 

Their capital, Tvein, became the most prosperous city in northeastern Middle-earth, a place where countless alchemical golems roamed the streets, and alchemists gathered in droves. 

By the Second Age, the Goblin Empire reached its zenith.

Yet, on the eve of the War of the Last Alliance, this once-mighty empire suddenly disintegrated overnight. 

Countless goblins fled Tvein, their grand capital, as several devastating curses engulfed it under the cover of darkness.

When Rynar first read this piece of history, he couldn't help but ponder.

How could the Goblin Empire, one of the most steadfast allies of the coalition forces, collapse in a single night? There was something deeply mysterious about it.

"Betrayal? What do you mean by that?" Rynar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Rynar's curiosity was clearly piqued by this revelation.

"Damn elves! Hypocritical elven nobles!" Jessiava, the goblin in question, raised his head, only to catch sight of Vanervi's inquisitive expression. Immediately, he exploded in rage, cursing furiously.

"Tsk, tsk, such lingering resentment!" Dylan, ever the spectator, smirked as he observed the stubborn goblin with amusement.

"What did I do?" Vanervi was dumbfounded. He had merely come along with Rynar and the group for a stroll. Who could have expected to be suddenly cursed at by a goblin?

Shing!

A sharp, gleaming manikati—a curved blade of exquisite craftsmanship—was unsheathed and pressed against Jessiava's neck in an instant.

"Well then, dear goblin, I'll give you one chance to rephrase your words," Vanervi threatened with a half-lidded glare, the faint smile on his face betraying his rising irritation.

"Heh, you're nothing but a stray dog like me. What's there to be smug about?" Jessiava, after carefully examining Vanervi's appearance, smirked in mockery. 

Without the nourishment of the magical wells, the nomadic Prairie Elves appeared far more weathered than their kin.

"What?!" Vanervi froze, and it took him a second to register the insult. He very nearly brought his blade down in anger.

"Wait! Calm down! My lord, please calm yourself! You're the man destined to become the Elf King! Killing him would only sully your hands!" 

Several elven soldiers rushed forward, frantically pulling Vanervi back.

Vanervi cursed under his breath but grudgingly backed off, using the excuse to de-escalate. 

After all, should he actually cut down the goblin, his reputation would undoubtedly become infamous. 

The bards would immortalize his "glorious" deed in ballads, spreading tales of the "valiant Elf King" who heroically struck down a defenseless goblin. 

Such a feat would be known to every soul in Middle-earth—from 300-year-old grandmothers to babbling toddlers.

"Bah, what bad luck," Vanervi muttered, turning away, though his eyes still burned with the anger of old wounds laid bare. 

The Prairie Elves, a wandering tribe without a fixed homeland, bore the pain of their plight like a scar across their collective memory. 

Though they now resided under Rynar's protection, Vanervi's mind often wandered to the dream of finding a land they could finally call their own.

"Well then,Goblin, I need to know your purpose here. If you refuse to speak, I'll have no choice but to execute you under my authority as lord of this land," Rynar said, his eyes narrowing. 

A flash of killing intent darted across his gaze. 

While Rynar was intrigued by the Goblin Empire's past, he wasn't about to let a goblin roam free and risk leaking intelligence about his territory. 

Who knew what this goblin had seen or heard? 

Goblins were infamous not just for their alchemical prowess but also for their skills as thieves—natural masters of stealth, burglary, assassination, and espionage.

"Lord Rynar, I have no intention of spying on your domain," Jessiava stammered, his eyes darting nervously. 

He clearly understood Rynar's concerns. 

After all, while goblins were no longer hunted outright, their reputation in Middle-earth was far from spotless. In countless major incidents, goblins had played less-than-noble roles.

"That's irrelevant. What matters is that you're currently standing on my land," Rynar interrupted, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. 

He dismissed the notion of goblin honor or faith with a wave of his hand. The glory and convictions of the past no longer applied to a people now struggling for mere survival.

"..." Jessiava fell into a brooding silence.

"Looks like you've chosen to keep quiet," Rynar sighed.

"Take him aside and execute him, Reynard. Ensure his soul is cleansed," Rynar commanded coldly. 

If the goblin refused to talk, then silence would be eternal. Rynar had no intention of risking the lives of his thousands of people for the sake of one goblin.

"Wait!" Jessiava kicked his legs desperately, breaking free from the soldiers restraining him.

"Oh? Ready to talk now?" Rynar turned back, a mysterious smile creeping onto his face.

"I... I wish to speak with you in private," Jessiava muttered, glancing around at the surrounding onlookers before sighing deeply.

"What are you planning?" Caslow's eyes narrowed, his hand already gripping the hilt of his blade, half-drawn from its sheath.

Reynard also fixed Jessiava with a hostile gaze, divine battle aura flickering faintly in his palms—a clear warning that he was ready to purify the goblin at a moment's notice.

Even Dylan, who seemed to be enjoying the drama with arms crossed, had discreetly formed two spell matrices in his palms, ready to unleash them with but a thought.

"Stand down," Rynar ordered, scanning the tense group with a calm smile. If the goblin had any tricks up his sleeve, he would have used them already.

"Mind Barrier! Soul Ward!" Dylan wasn't entirely reassured and cast two spells over Rynar, shielding his soul and body.

"Now, speak. I hope your explanation satisfies me," Rynar said, turning to Jessiava as the others moved to a safe distance.

"Do you know the history of the Goblin Empire?" Jessiava suddenly asked.

"...I don't. But if you're willing to share, I'll listen," Rynar replied evenly.

"We once lived in the Eastern Mountains. There, the ingenious ancestors of the goblins built a prosperous city—Tvein. 

We excelled in alchemy. We lived for alchemy! 

Through it, we created the most intricate golems Middle-earth had ever seen. Our golem armies were unmatched, and the empire thrived... until the War of Wrath began.

"The elves came to us, asking for aid. They promised us dominion over the entire northern wasteland, stretching from the Blue Mountains in the west to the eastern seas, from the lands of Lune in the south to the farthest north! Blinded by desire, we agreed.

"We faced Morgoth's eastern hordes head-on. But our lack of close-combat prowess was our undoing. 

The barbaric forces overran our golem defenses at an unimaginable cost. A slaughter ensued, wiping out our most elite alchemists. 

Only a handful of sages escaped the carnage…" Jessiava's voice quivered with bitter anguish.

"And then?" Rynar asked, his curiosity deepening. Even after such losses, the empire shouldn't have crumbled so utterly.

Jessiva let out a bitter laugh. "The elves abandoned us. They broke their promises, refusing to acknowledge our sovereignty over the lands we'd fought for. 

Forced to swallow our humiliation, we retreated to the Eastern Mountains to lick our wounds.

"But when the War of the Last Alliance broke out, your human leaders came to us once more. 

With honeyed words, they convinced the goblin emperor to join the war. This time, we marched south and struck at Mordor's heart… only to be surrounded by the Easterling war chariots.

"Our forces were devastated, and the coalition forces refused to advance to support us. Alone, we retreated. 

But Sauron's minions pursued us. Chimerae, demon wolf riders… they descended upon us. In a single night, the empire became a hellscape."

Jessiva's voice was heavy with grief as he recounted the downfall of his people.

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