The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

In the skies above Lond Daer, after emptying their second round of arrow quivers, the Winged Misbegotten immediately drew the short blades from their waists. Beating their wings to descend, they launched an attack on the Orcs below.

Meanwhile, the Scale-skinned Misbegotten led by the Lion Misbegotten charged through like an unstoppable force, trampling over Orc corpses bristling with arrows as they burst into the streets of Lond Daer.

A powerfully built Orc riding a Warg recklessly emerged from the street, leading a squad of Orcs who had set up barricades, planning to halt the Misbegotten's advance here.

It roared threateningly at the Lion Misbegotten in front, while the Orcs behind raised their bows, released their bowstrings, and arrows shot forth instantly.

"ROAR—! For His Majesty Tarnes! For the Golden Tree!"

The Lion Misbegotten responded with an even more terrifying roar, and the Scale-skinned Misbegotten behind him joined in with their own battle cries.

He swept his Misbegotten Greatsword horizontally, forcibly intercepting the incoming arrows. The collision of swords and arrows created a harsh metallic symphony.

Not all arrows were blocked—several mercilessly pierced through his armor, embedding in his flesh. However, that pain ignited his wild nature like sparks, flames burning in his eyes, his roar mixed with lion-like snarls.

The Scale-skinned Misbegotten behind him didn't completely imitate the Lion Misbegotten's method of blocking incoming arrows with their broad war axes or great cleavers. Instead, they nimbly scattered left and right.

Arrows fell like rain, yet the Scale-skinned Misbegotten moved as fluid as wind, their forms weaving through the narrow streets and alleys like swimming dragons. They climbed onto the weathered, broken rooftops on both sides, the beams creaking softly under their feet.

In the sky, the beating of wings was as dense as drumbeats. Just as the strong Orc was about to speak, the sound of cutting wind filled the air. It looked up sharply to see Winged Misbegotten diving down like birds of prey, their short blades gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

Before the Orc soldiers could react, the Winged Misbegotten had appeared among them like phantoms. The Orcs tried to turn their arrows around, only to discover the Winged Misbegotten's agility far exceeded expectations, while their own movements seemed clumsy and powerless.

In an instant, screams, metallic clashes, and the dull sound of blades entering flesh wove together into a chaotic symphony.

An Orc was heavily stomped on the face by a Winged Misbegotten, its rough features instantly contorting as pain and rage froze in that moment.

Immediately after, it felt a sharp pain, followed by a cold sensation spreading along its throat. Blood, like a wild beast escaping its bonds, gushed from where the short blade had cut, dyeing its vision black-red. The surrounding scenery began to spin until darkness finally consumed its consciousness.

"You damned bird-men, what kind of Orcs are you? Why are you attacking us!" The strong Orc managed to dodge the Winged Misbegotten's aerial assault while riding its Warg. It swung the cleaver in its hand to fend off pursuing Winged Misbegotten while roaring angrily in question.

Upon closer observation, it noticed these bird-men didn't look like humans either, so the confused strong Orc mistook them for Orc variants from other regions.

"BOOM!"

Behind the strong Orc, a tremendous crash shattered the silence—the makeshift barricades being overturned by the Lion Misbegotten's brute force.

The Warg growled low, its fang-filled maw showing displeasure as it turned to pounce on the intruder.

Its rider's gaze caught only a flash of sword light before pain struck instantly, followed by darkness.

The strong Orc's headless body slid powerlessly from the Warg's back, its heavy form crashing onto the chaotic street, mixing with the dust.

The Warg opened its bloody maw to bite the Lion Misbegotten, who hadn't yet withdrawn his weapon, but before its fangs could touch the Lion Misbegotten's fur, it was seized by the throat by that fire-red furry hand and lifted directly up.

His strength was so great that no matter how the Warg struggled, it couldn't break free from those vice-like hands.

"We are not Orcs. We are His Majesty Tarnes' bravest Misbegotten Legion."

The Lion Misbegotten's greatsword mercilessly pierced the Warg's abdomen. He increased the force in his grip, and the Warg's corpse was cast aside like a rag, landing heavily on the strong Orc's headless body.

Not far away, the roars of Scale-skinned Misbegotten and Orcs seemed to tear apart Lond Daer's very earth. The sudden clash of metal rang out, accompanied by Orc screams and Misbegotten war cries.

One Scale-skinned Misbegotten, wielding a giant axe, brought it down, instantly shattering the wooden shields of three Orcs standing side by side. Their arms snapped in unison as they all showed expressions of terror.

The Orcs quickly discovered they had no way to engage the Scale-skinned Misbegotten in close combat. Their weapons simply couldn't reach the Scale-skinned Misbegotten—not just because the Scale-skinned Misbegotten were agile, but purely due to attack range limitations.

Before the Orcs' pitiful cleavers could touch the Scale-skinned Misbegotten, they were cleaved in half along with their wielders by the latter's equally tall two-handed war axes.

An Orc struggled to rise from the ground, having just been sent flying by a Scale-skinned Misbegotten's axe handle, now somewhat dazed and confused.

The pain in its body filled its addled brain with rage. Gripping its already broken weapon, it roared and charged at the nearest Scale-skinned Misbegotten.

The Scale-skinned Misbegotten was ready. Its thick, long tail swept like a net intercepting meteors, lightly knocking the Orc off balance and changing its direction. Then the axe blade penetrated the Orc's chest cavity, embedding deeply in its flesh. The Orc's roar cut off abruptly, replaced by another brief scream on the battlefield.

With their dual advantages in size and strength, the Scale-skinned Misbegotten devastated the Orcs' battle lines with approximately a 1:15 casualty ratio.

The few Scale-skinned Misbegotten who died fell to arrows shot from behind by Orcs who caught them off guard.

Of course, this was also because the terrain where both sides fought was the urban environment of Lond Daer, with numerous buildings providing cover, which allowed for such a disparate casualty ratio.

If this were an endless great plain, the Lion Misbegotten would never lead the Scale-skinned Misbegotten in such a charge.

He liked brute force, but that didn't mean he liked suicide.

"Winged Misbegotten, go kill those archers!"

The Lion Misbegotten noticed the Orcs shooting from inside houses and issued the command.

The Winged Misbegotten soared high, their wings tracing elegant arcs through the air, stirring the breeze.

Their gazes precisely captured those Orcs hiding in the shadows of buildings on the ground—these evil Orcs cunningly lurked behind crude window covers, their bows aimed at the Winged Misbegotten, who had just taken flight.

The Winged Misbegotten's wings nimbly and swiftly adjusted their posture, like dancers leaping through the air, dodging arrow after arrow.

Soon they reached above these Orcs' buildings. Having just tried to prevent the Winged Misbegotten's approach, the Orcs had exhausted their quiver supplies and were frantically and busily replenishing arrows from inside the buildings.

The Winged Misbegotten seized this brief opportunity, suddenly diving toward the buildings. The Orcs' panicked cries mixed with the Winged Misbegotten's shrieks into a chaotic melody.

On the Scale-skinned Misbegotten's side, without archer support, the Orcs gradually couldn't maintain their battle line. Their originally firm positions began to loosen, like sandcastles washed by tides, crumbling bit by bit, collapsing inch by inch.

Fear spread through the Orc ranks like plague, transmitted from one Orc's gaze to another's face until the entire force fell into chaos.

The Lion Misbegotten's entry became the final straw that broke the Orcs, destroying their desperately maintained defense line like a violent storm.

The prelude to rout finally began when one Orc suddenly cut down a comrade blocking its retreat and fled, breaking through the last defenses of surrounding companions. Other Orcs followed suit, stepping on their comrades' heels as they fled rearward without regard for anything.

Even when a squad leader-level Orc directly killed another fleeing Orc, it couldn't change the overall battlefield situation.

War was like a torrent, and the Orcs were waves shattered against the shore.

In central Lond Daer, the command horn was mercilessly destroyed by Winged Misbegotten, and the Orc responsible for sounding it had become a cold corpse. Its body was pinned to a nearby wooden post by arrows, black blood gradually congealing and soaking the surrounding ground, its head hanging powerlessly.

Terror reflected in the Orc Captain's eyes as it struggled amid chaos and panic.

Scale-skinned Misbegotten surged forward like waves while Winged Misbegotten circled overhead, their scales or feathers reflecting cold light in the sunlight.

Its Warg mount had already died outside, and it was now trapped inside this building.

The Orc Captain's vision was instantly captured by a fire-red figure—the Lion Misbegotten emerged from among them.

Suddenly, the Orc Captain felt a heavy force on its shoulder. It almost instinctively tried to dodge, but that force came too fast and fierce. It only managed to slightly turn aside before feeling tremendous power pressing it toward the ground.

The Lion Misbegotten had mercilessly pressed his Misbegotten Greatsword's blade against the Orc Captain's shoulder armor.

"What kind of Orcs are you? Where did you come from? Are you mad! Aren't you afraid of our master's wrath!" The Orc Captain cursed furiously after seeing the somewhat grimy faces of the surrounding Misbegotten.

The Lion Misbegotten frowned—this was the second time he'd heard enemies call him an Orc.

This made him somewhat angry. How dare they confuse Misbegotten with these weak Orcs!

At this moment, Tarnes, still wearing his White Wolf War Ghost armor set, entered. All the surrounding Scale-skinned and Winged Misbegotten bowed their heads to show respect.

"You've done well. First, have some of you investigate those enslaved humans, while the rest check if any Orcs are still hiding in Lond Daer. Be careful—these Orcs are cunning. Don't let your guard down just because they're fleeing." Tarnes first nodded in praise, then gave instructions.

The surrounding Misbegotten departed, leaving only the Lion Misbegotten pressing the Orc Captain with his Misbegotten Greatsword.

"Your Majesty Tarnes, this is Lond Daer's Orc commander," the Lion Misbegotten said quietly.

Tarnes glanced at the wounds on the other's body—several broken arrows embedded in his arms and back, with two shallow cuts across his chest.

He took out his Crimson Tear Flask and a Neutralizing Boluses, placing both in the Lion Misbegotten's other hand. "Treat your wounds first. I remember some Orcs like to poison their arrows—don't fall for such a ridiculous cause."

Then Tarnes took the Misbegotten Greatsword from the Lion Misbegotten and looked at the Orc Captain, lightly tapping the other's face with the blade. "Why are you Orcs here?"

The Orc Captain made a "heh heh" laughing sound, not answering Tarnes' question but cursing at the Lion Misbegotten: "Human? You actually serve a human? You and your kind have betrayed our master—he will bring punishment upon you!"

The Lion Misbegotten had been feeling pleased that Tarnes cared for him and even gave him his Crimson Tear Flask for healing.

But the Orc Captain's words darkened his expression. The Lion Misbegotten walked over and ruthlessly kicked the Orc Captain's stomach. "You're mistaken, you blind fool."

Tarnes used the Misbegotten Greatsword's edge to lightly cut the other's neck. "Answer my question, Orc. Why are you here? Whose command was it to repair Lond Daer?"

The Orc Captain showed a meaningful smile and said, "Our master has returned. Darkness will once again shroud Middle-earth. He will bring fear and despair to all of you."

Tarnes caught the key information in the other's words and pressed, "What is your master's name? Who is 'he'?"

The Orc Captain's expression became strange, and then it deliberately threw itself against the blade, slitting its own throat.

The Lion Misbegotten quickly bent down to check, then shook his head. "It's dead, Your Majesty Tarnes."

"I know."

Tarnes exhaled and nodded, then returned the Misbegotten Greatsword to the Lion Misbegotten while taking back his Crimson Tear Flask.

The Orc Captain's words made him recall what Gandalf had said when they met.

Darkness lurks beneath the light. In caves, forests, and mountains we cannot see, evil forces are growing.

Tarnes felt it was time to find Gandalf again and discuss what had happened here.

But where was Gandalf now?

Elrond had said that after leaving Rivendell, Gandalf continued east beyond the Misty Mountains, quite far from Minhiriath.

And his whereabouts were unpredictable.

If only there were some way to quickly contact him. Next time they met, he'd definitely ask about it, or think of a method to reach him promptly.

Just then, Tarnes heard some commotion outside.

He and the Lion Misbegotten exchanged glances. The latter went out first, then returned to tell Tarnes: "Your Majesty Tarnes, it's the enslaved humans. Some of them want to see you."

(End of Chapter)

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