Lord of the Rings: Warriors

"Your Majesty, Omsk pledges his unwavering loyalty to you!" Omsk dismounted from his horse at the city gates, dropped to one knee, and declared with reverence.

"..." Vanervi.

"..." Dylan.

"Zaltarion's Dragon Crest! His armor looks eerily similar to the ancient Teutonic Order's!" 

The guards atop the city wall quickly noticed Omsk's peculiar wind-blown cape and his ornate, distinctively styled plate armor.

"Grandmaster of the Teutonic Knights, Omsk, seeks an audience with His Majesty!" 

Seeing no immediate response from the wall, Omsk spoke in a calm yet resonant voice. 

Though soft-spoken, it was as if he whispered directly into the ears of everyone in Riverguard; his voice carried effortlessly across the entire stronghold.

"Open the gates and let him in!" Rynar turned on his heel and descended from the wall.

This simple gesture by Rynar instantly elevated his standing in the hearts of those watching. 

To them, his action exuded confidence and the demeanor of a king, as though he had anticipated the arrival of an ally. 

Little did Rynar know that this seemingly unintentional move would earn him boundless respect and admiration.

"Welcome, Omsk, Hero of the Realm!" Rynar greeted Omsk in a recently cleared reception hall.

"Your Majesty, it is my honor to fight for you!" Omsk said in a deep voice.

"Indeed. Your efforts will be greatly needed. Our position remains precarious. 

The orcs and other dark forces continue to watch us like predators, waiting for a single misstep to deliver a fatal blow." Rynar sighed heavily. 

Truth be told, Riverguard's location was highly disadvantageous—surrounded on three sides by enemies, leaving them perpetually vulnerable. 

Rynar had no choice but to bolster his forces and prepare for any potential attacks.

"Where your will leads, my sword shall follow," Omsk pledged, kneeling once more and striking his chest with a fist in solemn oath.

"Good. You've traveled far and must be weary. Caslow! Take him to rest and recuperate. 

Tonight, I will host a banquet to welcome Omsk and honor his arrival!" Rynar said, demonstrating how much he valued this first true six-tier combatant under his command. 

With Omsk's strength, the Kingdom of Zaltarion could finally step into the ranks of kingdoms recognized by the world.

"Yes, my lord!" Caslow responded immediately.

"Lord Lance! We've arrived at the Plains. Further downstream lies the Anduin River!" announced a ranger from Lordaeron.

"Ah, finally! Have the boats docked. Let's head ashore to hunt and gather supplies," Lance replied with enthusiasm. 

The plains offered ample resources, enough to replenish their small squad's stores.

"Oh, gold above! I never want to set foot on a boat again!" Jessiava stumbled out of the cabin, bracing himself against the wall, visibly pale.

"Hey! I didn't expect a goblin like you to get seasick. This is an inland river, for goodness' sake!" Lance exclaimed, incredulous.

"Hah! We live underground. Getting seasick isn't exactly a shock!" Jessiava shot back, clearly annoyed.

"Alright, alright, Lord Jessiava. Go stretch your legs on solid ground. We should reach Gondor soon!" Lance said, glancing southward.

"Let's hope so. I just want this trip to end without any surprises," Jessiava muttered, looking weary.

"Relax. As long as we don't venture too deep into the plains, we should be fine," Lance reassured her confidently. 

He doubted the orcs had the leisure to wander aimlessly. Mordor's forces were more likely on edge and scattered. 

They wouldn't waste time targeting a small, insignificant human patrol.

"You should still be cautious of roaming orcs or wargs. These wilderness raiders are resilient and tenacious, always lurking where you least expect them," Jessiava warned.

"You're right. They're like a bad rash that won't go away!" 

Lance admitted, his expression darkening. Middle-earth was crawling with wandering orcs, and their group had encountered several along the river. 

Lance's strategy so far had been to have his rangers fire warning shots to scatter them. But he had to admit, the sheer persistence of these pests was exhausting.

"Oh, Dragon above! Lord Jessiava, you should be a prophet!" Lance groaned, his head aching as he saw disarray among his troops ahead.

"Hey! What's going on up there?" Lance shouted from a distance.

"Sir! We've been ambushed by goblins!" A ranger from Lordaeron ran over, laughing in exasperation.

"What? Who gave those pathetic runts the courage?" Lance's frustration boiled over. Orcs were one thing, but goblins—creatures at the bottom of the food chain—daring to attack them?

"Any casualties? How many of them are there?" Lance demanded, his anger palpable.

"None, sir. Their pathetic arrows couldn't even pierce our leather armor!" the ranger scoffed.

"Good. Pull the rangers back," Lance ordered. Though goblins were laughably weak, he didn't want his lightly armored rangers taking unnecessary risks.

He could already imagine the awkwardness of reporting to King Rynar that his forces suffered casualties in a skirmish against goblins.

"Heavy cavalry, mount up! Crush them!" Lance barked, raising his lance high.

The sharp clatter of metal filled the air as one hundred Zaltarion heavy cavalrymen donned their polished plate-and-chain armor, their horses similarly equipped with shining barding.

Under the sun's glare, they gleamed like a river of steel.

"Cavalry! For the glory of Zaltarion! Trample them!" Lance roared.

As the heavy cavalry thundered into a charge, Lance followed behind with the rangers, ensuring no unexpected surprises. But really, what surprises could goblins offer?

"Boom! Boom!" 

The ground shook under the cavalry's charge, their Shire-bred warhorses surging forward with unmatched strength and speed.

"Kill!"

The deafening roar of the charging cavalry was enough to strike fear into the heart of any seasoned soldier, let alone the feeble goblins. Lance watched the charge with a tinge of envy.

"If only I could join them. But alas, I'm just a warrior," Lance thought with a sigh. 

He could ride just as well as any cavalryman, but his pride as a warrior—someone who relied on raw strength and skill rather than mounted tactics—kept him from joining the fray. 

After all, his mighty shield bash could generate twice the impact of a mounted charge.

The cavalry quickly collided with the fleeing goblins. With practiced ease, they speared the frail creatures on their lances. 

Lance even noted with amusement that, for the first time in history, their disposable lances hadn't snapped against such weak foes.

"These goblins are pathetic," Lance muttered, reflecting on whether he had taken the situation too seriously. Using heavy cavalry against goblins felt like swatting flies with a warhammer.

"Swoosh!"

 The Lordaeron rangers weren't to be outdone. Their bows sang as they picked off goblins draped in tattered rags, pinning them to the ground effortlessly.

"These half-elves are such a blessing," Lance thought, admiring the rangers' sharp ears and precise shots.

"My lord, it's done! That was so boring!" The heavy cavalry returned, visibly unimpressed. For them, the encounter felt less like a battle and more like a slaughter. 

There wasn't even a hint of satisfaction from the victory; the enemy had been far too weak. One cavalryman even boasted about singlehandedly chasing down dozens of goblins.

"Alright, burn the bodies. Then, gather your weapons and go hunt for something decent to eat. Tonight, we feast!" Lance declared, sitting by the campfire.

"Hurrah!" The soldiers cheered, quickly dispersing into the wilderness in search of game.

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