The world was created in the beginning by a being called Eru Ilúvatar, the equivalent of the Christian God, except that he is very remote and plays little direct role in the governing of the world. That is handled by the Valar, who are sometimes called gods but are actually closer to angels, excerising power in the name of God. They Elves have long known about them and what they are, beliefs about them among Men are unclear and distorted with passing of time. Morgoth, the Dark Lord of the First Age, was once among the Valar but rebelled and tried to sieze all power for himself. Sauron was once a servent of Morgoth back in the days of his reign.
I have taken quite a few concepts in this story from the writings of H. P. Lovecraft, though no characters)
History is written by the victors. When you read the tale of the Great War between Gondor and the alliance of we Easterlings, Harad, Khand, and Mordor, it will say the Easterlings were no more than evil Men bent on the destruction. It will will say we willingly served the evil Dark Lord in our lust to conquer.
However, if you ask one of the loyal Men of the East, you will hear a different story. He will tell of a proud race of warriors and a noble people defending their ancient ways. He will talk of Men driven to desparate measures in order to finally subdue the ancient menace of Gondor. I am here to say they are both liars.
It all began when I left home... No, that is not exactly the truth. It all began thousands of years ago. We Easterlings have been at war with Gondor on and off as far back as history and legend go. Mordor has long been our ally, but rumors of late said a new power came, or rather an ancient power returned, to Mordor.
In my childhood, I heard many tales from my parents and village elders about the enemies. The most numerous of these were the Men of Gondor, but not the most terrifying. On the enemy's side were the Daemons. Their form was more beautfiul that the most beautiful of Men, but beauty, as it was often said, decieved. Daemons were silent in movement, swift to attack, and attacked Men from afar with archers of unnatural eyesight.
On the seventeenth year after my birth, I left the village I grew up in, as is the custom of our people. When we come of age, we must take our place in the fight against Gondor. I donned the old armor of my father wore in his days in battle, until he bacame too old to go into battle. The armor of the Easterlings was a wonderous thing: a horned metal helmet, interlocking iron plates that covered the whole body. I took in hand my weapon, a long pike, and left after a short ceremony asking for the blessings of the gods Aminwo the Ruler, and Zarinde the Queen, and Tukota the Warrior.
Leaving behind the home I had known all my life, I walked to the north across the plain. The walk was long, but I was used to long journeys, having gone on many hunting trips longer than this. I finally came upon my destination, the military camp of the North.
We Easterlings were not one united kingdom, like Gondor. Each village was independent; we had no need for a king. However, faced with war we allied to fight the Western menace under the leadership of Mordor. In the past, almost all our fighting has taken place in the South, against Gondor or our now-ally Harad. Now, at the order of Mordor, some of us march north to fight the allies of Gondor that live there: the Men of the North, and Dwarves, and Daemons.
The camp was full of activity when I arrived. Small tents of hide were pitched everywhere and Men like myself in armor walked about. Unsure of what to do, I looked for one of the captains. After asking among the other solders, for I found a group of captains sitting around a boiling pot of stew talking.
"Sirs!" I addressed them. "I just arrived in the camp. Where am I to go?" A few of them laughed, I suppose at the unnecessary formality with which I addressed them. I was told to find a tent and rest in camp until I was assigned a mission.
I made many aquaintances quickly. In general, the other soldiers were quite good-natured, and loved to joke around. One thing did bother me, perhaps just my imagination. I somehow seemed to be on the outside of everything, like I was set apart from the rest of the Men in some intangile way. I attributed it to being a newcomer of the army. The others had been together longer and probably fought side-by-side in battle. Of course that would forge bonds I was not privy to. Unfortunatly, I did not stay in camp with these jovial Men long enough even to learn any of their names, which I am horrible with.
Not a week after I arrived at the camp, a captain gathered several of us together for a mission, my first of the war. He took us all into a large tent and explained what we were to do. A fortress of Mordor, Dol Gulder, was surrounded basically all sides by the enemy. We were to escort a caravan of supplies to the fortress, killing any of the enemy that attacked. Our course was due west, through lands under the control of our enemies the Northern Men and unfriendly Dwarves, and finally into the massive forest that surrounded Dol Gulder.
We set out at noon, with the blazing sun overhead. There were fifteen of us, including myself, the captain, and the Men driving the carts. The captain told us to walk two on either side of each of the horse-drawn carts.
"This is a fine trip," said the Man walking beside me almost as soon as we started out. Though we were soldiers, discipline was apparently lax when combat was not at hand. "I'm just glad I'm not down on the front lines near Gondor. They say those battlefields turn men into corpses quicker than anything."
"I'd like to me down there," I said. "It would be a chance to do something heroic, unlike this."
He laughed, but it was a cold laugh. "Let me tell something about heroes. You don't see many of them around, because most of them are dead."
"Better dead than a coward," I retorted.
"Better a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life."
I introduced myself, and he gave his name as Kazuo. He was a strange fellow, a little older than me. He'd seen battle before. He lived near a Dwarf-mansion, Dwarves who were once allies and forged much of the weapons and armor we now use. Some years ago, a rider from Mordor stormed the mountain and killed the Dwarves' king over the ownership of a gold ring supposedly forged in ancient times. The Dwarves severed the ancient alliance with we Men of the East, as we are Mordor's ally, and began attacking nearby villages, one of which Kazuo is from. So from the time Kazuo was old enough to fight, he had to fight the Dwarves "enough to know battle is no pretty thing."
There was indeed little to do on this march, so our company talked quite a bit, I and Kazuo, Khâl and Evrik, the other Men, and the two women Zhine and Azire. (Our tradition let women fight alongside Men as archers if they so choose, for it was said a woman's aim was better than a Man's.) Like at camp, we got along well.
However, it still seemed as if I were on the outside of everything. Except for Kazuo and me, everyone seemed to share some intangible bond. Even more conspicuously, when we stopped at night, groups of people wandered off by themselves. I supposed they were going off in private to pray or make sacrifices to the gods.
The world seemed to change when we came into the West Land. The vast plains were gone, replaced by huge expanses of trees. How was an army supposed to fight in this type of terrain? Now I saw the true danger of this mission: forests gave enemies a place to conceal troops and take us by ambush.
"If you keep talking about bad things like that," Kazuo said when I mentioned this, "they'll happen." I never was a superstitious man, but perhaps there was a bit of truth to what he said. I quit talking about it.