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Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 259
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 11:36:12 +0000 UTCChapter 259: The Cripple
Gandalf and Balin departed together, returning to Erebor, where their journey had begun.
After arriving with Balin, Gandalf immediately set off again, beginning another journey to destinations unknown.
As for Balin...
"That was quite a journey, wasn't it?"
In Erebor, he regaled his old friends with tales—the giant bear gazing at the moon atop Carrock, the breathtaking views from the Sky Road, the brutal battle at Riverside Keep, and Bilbo's current peaceful life in the Shire.
After speaking, he learned about the Dale battle from his companions.
Comparing the two, the chaos at Riverside Keep had clearly been far greater.
"This is much more exciting than what happened on our side," one dwarf said, imagining the scenes Balin described.
Some looked wistfully at the history book Balin had brought back—an actual chronicle from Roadside Keep itself.
"What's so special about it? We're alive and well without having gone, aren't we?" Another dwarf turned away sharply, refusing to look at Balin.
His words dripped with envy.
"Just be happy for him," Thorin said warmly, genuinely pleased for this valued companion—his most capable assistant and strategist.
Not bringing him on their previous adventures had been rather inconsiderate.
"However, Balin, why is part of your beard so... pointy?"
Balin's face froze.
"This is proof of my battle with a Nazgûl, Thorin. You shouldn't ask, and the rest of you—don't laugh. That cursed wraith nearly took my head off with his blade. My beard saved my life. It's the finest beard in all of Erebor."
"Oh yes, the finest beard—once upon a time," someone added with a grin.
The comment nearly made Balin faint from indignation.
"Alright, enough," Thorin said, pressing his hands downward to quiet the commotion.
"Let's discuss more pressing matters."
"Recently, workers conducting excavation in the mountain's deepest sections have reported difficulty breathing, plus feelings of unease and irritability."
"Did we dig too deep? That shouldn't be—we've gone deeper before without such problems."
"Could it be the weather's too hot?"
"That's even less likely. Think before you speak—which of us hasn't worked a forge? Which hasn't spent hours beside roaring furnaces? Did any of you feel uncomfortable doing that?"
"No, we didn't."
Dwarves were famously resilient—heat-resistant, disease-resistant, and stubborn as stone with iron constitutions.
They rarely fell ill. Human maladies couldn't touch them; their immunity was legendary.
"Perhaps it's a climate issue within the mountain itself."
"We could improve the work environment. Send down ice blocks and cool ale."
"That might help."
The discussion continued, moving through various mountain matters as they set aside the earlier levity.
All was well.
On the other side, at Riverside Keep, Levi had lived long-term in his territory since returning, joining citizen construction teams and leading various new building projects.
Walls, houses, shipyards, docks—various projects proceeded in orderly fashion, progress accumulating daily.
Manpower, materials, and technology—all reserves were quite sufficient.
As for less suitable terrain, normally even with various tools and territorial permissions, directly modifying the landscape was quite difficult for citizens.
But that posed no problem.
Levi's figure began appearing at construction sites.
He became Riverside Keep's most tireless foreman, doing work daily equivalent to several construction teams, laboring day and night without stopping.
This made citizens' hearts ache with concern.
Seeing Levi's ceaseless efforts, many couldn't sleep peacefully.
"Why don't you rest?"
Finally, out of concern for their lord, a representative approached him.
"Rest?" Levi was somewhat puzzled, placing another block without pause.
"Aren't I resting?"
The citizen was momentarily speechless.
That day, he thought long and hard.
In these territories, no one forced them to do anything. No pressure compelled unwilling decisions. Everything was each person's own choice, their own passion.
"The fire in my heart has been lit," the citizen declared.
At midnight, he sat up suddenly, lit a lamp, and went to work.
"What's gotten into him?" Others murmured, watching that determined figure with puzzled expressions.
Regardless, Riverside Keep's construction and development thrived, with new progress visible daily.
Building, crafting ships, directing projects... and occasionally wandering near Moria's gates.
Since the great battle, the Moria region had become eerily quiet, with nearly all orcs inside eliminated.
Those worms had retreated deeper underground—even deeper than where dwarves had dug before encountering the Balrog.
They vanished completely, leaving only mysterious, hollow passages.
When projects weren't urgent and nothing required immediate decisions, Levi found time to visit Moria's western gate.
He walked from the west gate to the east, unobstructed.
No orcs appeared. No Balrog presence stirred.
"Perhaps it's safe now."
After consideration, Levi retraced the path, leaving markers to help future travelers identify directions and routes.
***
A year passed in relative peace.
Though perhaps not so peaceful for the outside world.
A brand-new, massive-scale shipyard was no small matter. Whether allies or enemies, all factions paid considerable attention.
Even traditionally neutral places uninvolved in conflicts heard news of this development, mentioning it in casual conversations.
In a blink, year's end arrived.
Besides this emerging shipyard and its implications for warfare, no major events shook Middle-earth.
If one had to mention something...
In the crossroads area where Mordor and Gondor disputes flared most fiercely, on the eastern side, new developments occurred among Uruk-hai groups.
"We haven't seen you before, cripple."
In a frontier camp, an Uruk-hai noticed a disabled figure approaching and began interrogating.
The lame Uruk-hai raised his head, looking at these unfamiliar faces. His throat tightened.
All newcomers.
The Uruk-hai previously stationed here had all perished—delivered personally by their master to enemies for slaughter.
"We're asking you—where did you crawl from?"
"I crawled back from the fiercest battlefield," the lame Uruk-hai said, not hiding his origins.
"Ha! A cripple, disabled, a deserter!"
The interrogating Uruk-hai immediately mocked him with vicious delight.
Among orc groups there was no humanitarian concern—the weak existed to be humiliated by the strong.
"Deserter?" the lame Uruk-hai hissed.
"You haven't seen hell, yet dare speak so boldly!"
"What did you say?"
Seeing this weakling dare resist, the Uruk-hai immediately raised his blade and struck downward.
The lame Uruk-hai's fury exploded. He lunged forward, grabbing the blade barehanded despite the cuts slicing his palms. He wrenched it free and swung wildly, hacking at the insulting Uruk-hai until he'd reduced him to a broken, bloody mess of meat and twisted armor.
Only then did he stop.
"Who else disagrees?" he roared, raising the butcher's blade dripping with blood and flesh.
Surrounding Uruk-hai recoiled, frightened by the savage display. None dared step forward.
From that day, among Mordor's newly dispatched Uruk-hai groups appeared a fearsome figure—lame but powerful, brutal, immensely strong, and terrifyingly skilled at combat. Many Uruk-hai willingly followed his commands.
Later, this lame Uruk-hai replaced his arrow-pierced foot with a crude prosthetic and used brutal orc techniques to reinforce his skull with iron plates.
During the modification, his screams echoed through the camp, but he endured through sheer, iron willpower.
When the prosthetic was fitted and skull reinforcement completed, he was utterly transformed—both in appearance and spirit.
He earned a new name: "Limping Freak."
The name came from his grotesque appearance and his previously crippled leg.
Limping Freak conquered Uruk-hai and orc camps one by one, until all the half-orcs called him 'boss.'
His reputation grew until one day, a Nazgûl took notice.
"You will serve as leader," the Nazgûl commanded.
"Yes, master!"
After leaving Minas Morgul, Limping Freak showed a fierce, knowing smile.
He had returned.
An order was issued to his forces.
"Retreat. Do not provoke that monster beneath the crossroads."
