The Tarnished in LOTR with Elden Ring

At this moment, the streets of Lake-town were already covered in black blood and spider webs like a nightmare battlefield.

With the remaining eight Nazgûl drawn north by Bernahl, Igon, and Legolas into the Orc-ambushed ruins, it seemed all the town's shadows converged at the ruined bell tower of the former mayor's house.

Atop a heap of collapsed brick stood the Witch-king of Angmar, his Morgul blade lowered, black fume billowing beneath his helm like Sauron's mocking laughter given form.

Nearby, a tide of powerful Orcs relentlessly battered the last barricade of the Storm Legion.

These hulking Orcs had long arms and shields marked with red eyes that seemed to glow with malice.

Were Gandalf here, he would recognize these as Sauron's Uruk-hai, taller and stronger than the ordinary Orcs under Azog's command.

In the front ranks, Uruks wielded spiked hammers, each blow echoing a dull thud off the barricades lining Lake-town's streets.

The Storm soldiers, led by their knights, calmly leveled hand crossbows at the seemingly endless ranks of Uruk-hai and giant spiders.

Their counterattacks were fierce, but the numbers were overwhelming. The line was forced, step by step, to shrink back.

Thud!

Every barricade cracked after the loss of a dozen Uruks. Squads of them stormed over their fallen kin, only to meet flamethrowers long prepared by the Legion.

Fwshhh!

Blazing flames greedily devoured the advancing ranks, toppling Uruks with screams of agony. Some, ablaze, flung themselves into the icy lake at either side.

But without their Dwarf allies or Lake-town's fishermen to block the waterways, Storm soldiers had no way to deal with those who survived the flames.

This time, the Storm Legion not only faced those attacking from the streets, but also the spiders, agile enough to crawl up onto rooftops.

These spiders dropped silken threads from eaves, cocooning three unwary soldiers beside a flamethrower in ghost-white silk, their fading struggles reflected in cold green eyes.

But other soldiers reacted fast, swinging their flamethrowers to douse the roof in fire, incinerating the spiders before they could strike again.

On instruction from knights, lines of flame moved systematically, using Uruk corpses and timbers to forge a wall of fire, slowing the enemy's advance.

But from behind that fire came a cold, scornful laugh, and through the burning torrent stepped a black figure. The Witch-king, unfazed by the flames, walked right through.

A chill like death hung around him, dampening even the blaze's heat and letting Uruks pass through without harm.

A Storm Knight saw this and barked urgently, "Shieldmen right! Block the breach!"

Soldiers raised shields as Uruks and spiders piled into the breach. Five Storm Knights simultaneously roared and charged, halberds and greatswords wreathed in storm winds, opening the fight with the Witch-king in a narrow alley.

They knew this fiend's cries induced terror. Physical attacks would not easily avail. So, with experience and discipline, all five conspired to press him, denying him the leisure to break their men's morale.

Silver-white heavy armor gleamed bright in torchlight, greatswords and tower shields cross-bracing an iron wall. Two knights skilled at blade and shield locked off the Witch-king's flanks. The three with halberds struck in turn at joints in his armor.

Clang!

A halberd glanced off a heavy shoulder plate. The left knight took a Morgul blade through the guard, soul-searing pain stabbing to his skull.

Yet he did not retreat. Instead, he let go of his blade, grabbed the Witch-king's sword arm, and, stepping forward, had the blade trapped in his own flesh, coughing black blood and bellowing, "His cursed seam's at the armpit! Stab his armpit!"

Before he finished, the other four moved in and struck hard at the imprisoned arm.

Meanwhile, the defenders' line slowly fell back toward the broad market square.

Uruk arrows pinged harmlessly off brass shields, but spider-silk proved more troublesome. Nonlethal but clinging and rapidly glued shields to hands, forcing the fighters to drop them or risk full entombment.

"Careful! Ignite the oil barrels!"

One knight kicked off a pouncing spider and called his squad to the fire barrels stacked near the market.

Soldiers lobbed torches at the barrels, making them erupt, tossing charred Uruk and spider parts in every direction. Yet still more shadows pressed closer.

"Left flank! Spearmen forward!"

Unfazed, the knight issued orders dictated by the crisis. Soldiers rebuilt the line atop the carnage, spear-points thrusting out through shield gaps to puncture leaping spiders.

Black blood splattered from spider wounds, but even amid chaos the soldiers focused on headshots, not stabbing the more vulnerable-looking abdomens, which they knew housed venom and could endanger their shield mates.

The knight narrowed his eyes, glancing toward where Bernahl and Igon had drawn the Nazgûl, muttering, "How much longer, Lord Bernahl?"

No answer came. Only drumbeats and the clatter of spider jaws replied.

But the deadlock broke suddenly.

From the northwest of Lake-town, the shrill whistle of arrows tore through the chaos of the marketplace.

A silvery, marching arrow-rain punched through Uruk skulls at the rear line, shattered many-eyed spiders on rooftops, and finally impacted the ground just short of the Storm soldiers.

Arrow-feathers trembled, and every foe in front of the soldiers fell. Most died instantly, a few Uruks and spiders howling in pain.

Thranduil's white stag leaped onto the field with nimble grace. The mighty moose bowed, then tossed its head, sharp antlers crushing a pouncing spider before flinging it aside.

Behind Thranduil, the woodland Elves' gold armor flowed like a river through Lake-town's ruined streets.

Their sabers, crescent and gleaming, mowed down spiders and felled Uruks alike. Their arrows killed with perfect precision.

"Elves? Where did they come from?"

The Legion's men, though new to woodland Elves, recognized their pointed ears if not the kingdom. Clearly, reinforcement from the Elves.

Thranduil coolly waved a hand, and the golden line of Elves surged and split.

One squad vaulted to the rooftops, shooting down swarms of spiders before they could fall. Another pressed into the Uruk ranks, blades slipping through armor joints, black blood splashing the boards.

The Storm Legion responded rapidly, surging forward to join their new allies and pincer the Orcs and spiders.

In the alley, the Witch-king, dueling five knights, spun back at the sudden arrival of so many Elves. Black mist churned under his helm as he witnessed his master's host dissolving at visible speed.

Uruks fell by the dozens to Elven arrows before even reaching them. Spiders were overtaken and split open by nimbler Elves, guts spilling into the streets.

The Witch-king swept his blade, then abruptly leaped back, howling skyward.

His scream drove the surviving Uruks and spiders to frenzy. They fled for Lake-town's edge.

At the same moment, the seven Nazgûl fighting Bernahl, Igon, and Legolas heard the Witch-king's call, stopped, and, nearly dissolving into shadow, sped toward him.

Tauriel, less powerful than the others, had been knocked out in the Nazgûl melee, lying still.

The wraiths' armor was battered. Pressure eased, and Bernahl at last found time to use [Blessing of the Erdtree] and [Golden Vow].

With the Erdtree's blessing, Igon's and Legolas's weapons now wounded the wraiths.

Had they not been so resilient, Bernahl could have slowly shattered their armor one by one.

The seven streaked through town as black mist. The last, as it left, was caught by an arrow from Igon and a glowing arrow from Legolas, both enhanced with golden energy. The wraith paused.

That pause cost it. Bernahl's Serpent-Hunter staff smashed down.

"Open your mouth, shut your eyes, cover your ears!"

He barked at Legolas, who instinctively complied.

Igon's dragon roar filled the air. Bernahl, covering one ear, winced.

But the wraith beneath his staff fared far worse. Like the last slain by the dragon incantation, it shrieked and writhed, armor shattering, finally curling to a heap of scrap. Another silver ring rolled free.

Bernahl snatched it up. Igon laughed, "Yours looks a bit different from mine."

Bernahl nodded and pocketed it. "Each Nazgûl has one. Must be important. Let's have Tarnes or Gandalf take a look once the war's over."

Legolas only then recovered, still dazed by the dragon's roar, so he didn't notice the conversation or the ring's collection.

Now, Bernahl sensed eyes on him. He looked up to see the Witch-king and six remaining Nazgûl gazing from a distant roof.

Bernahl deliberately nudged the shattered armor at his feet and pointed his staff, taunting, "Run back to your master! His servants' armor is too flimsy!"

The Witch-king and his six wraiths drifted away, their hateful echoes spinning through the wreckage.

"This is only the prelude... human..."

The Witch-king's hasty retreat was because Elven troops and the Storm Legion were converging, and any slower, he might not escape.

No sooner had the wraiths left than a cluster of arrows landed right where they had been.

Far off, several golden-armored Elves tutted in disappointment.

Thranduil stroked his stag's mane, then surveyed the battered city in concern.

His warriors moved efficiently alongside the Legion, clearing out stragglers, their golden armor unsullied.

All Thranduil looked for was a glimpse of his son on the chaotic field.

When Bernahl's party drew near, the Elvenking saw his son battered, and for a moment pain flashed in his pale gray eyes.

But he composed himself, recovering his old elegance and pride, drew a letter from his cloak, and addressed Bernahl and Igon. "Tell Tarnes that this is Mirkwood's repayment for his gift. We have cleared up this mess for him."