The Goblin: An Unexpected Journey

In the waning years of the Third Era, The War Of The Ring drew to a close. With the One Ring destroyed at the hands of Frodo Baggins, the lands of Mordor were emptied after the battle at the Black Gates, but something happened then, that no one intended. The battle was survived by the unlikeliest of creatures, a goblin, Garzaht of Mordor.

"Urgh, get off!" the scratchy voice said from beneath a heap of bloodied orc corpses. With a rustle one of the bodies was dislodged tumbling down the side of the pile and hitting the ground with a sloppy, bloody thud. A hand reached out from under the mass, pushing limbs aside and clutching onto whatever solid handhold it could. "Pathetic, fat, stupid, stinking, dead orcs!" the voice continued.

Getting a solid grip on the hilt of an orcish scimitar, blade dug into the ground, the hand pulled hard and with a loud slurp, the grimy form of a grimy goblin emerged from the pile. Getting to his feet with a clumsy stumble, the goblin spat on the pile of his comrades.  "Useless, you die and I live, hahah!" he said in a mocking voice, proceeding to drive his armoured boot into the ribs of a nearby body.

He stood in the field of dead orcs, Haradrim, Easterlings and trolls, surveying the scene before him. In the distance the fields were littered with the charred corpses of fellbeasts and the crumbled remains Barad-dûr were scattered over the landscape. Adopting a scowl let out a long sigh and pressed his palm against his face, shaking his head in dismay. "So... we lost then."

"What now?" the goblin thought to himself as he walked toward the shattered remnants of the Black Gates, the ground slick with the black blood of orc-kind. "I can't stay here, but I guess Middle-Earth is full of places that'd welcome a goblin with open arms," he said, beaming with optimism. "Well, I'm sure it is, I just can't think of any right now."

With one hand placed thoughtfully on his chin he stopped to contemplate the matter, leaning back against the belly of decapitated troll. "Well, maybe I can go to the undying lands, I know no goblin has ever been there but I'm sure the elves would make an exception if I asked nicely. Hmm, but there is the fact that I only know Black Speech, that definitely creates a barrier. They'd probably shoot on sight anyway and I don't fancy being a goblin pincushion."

The matter was certainly a difficult one and it left Garzaht scratching his ugly head. "Nothing's stopping me from staying here," he mused, looking at his feet to see an orc with an arrow through his throat. "There's plenty to eat. Then again the humans are probably planning and setting up here now that they've conquered it and I don't want to be around when they get back."

"The Misty Mountains maybe?" he said to himself. "A big city Mordor goblin could really make something of himself out there. Yeah, the Misty Mountains! This the best idea I've had all-,"

"Skreeee!" The shriek cut the goblin off and in a flurry of motion he vanished from the scene.

This would be the start of a very unexpected journey for the goblin, a journey through an eagle's digestive tract.