A mass of clearly vicious, malodorous beasts descended on Supersize Fort Apache through the North Woods, moments after the panicked hobbits arrived. "We will taste man flesh!" they roared. Having no interest in the monsters' dinner plans, every civilian in the territory made for the front gates - with the adults shooing the little ones and livestock ahead of them.
As the last of the civilians staggered toward the fort, Lt. Col. George A. Custer volunteered to lead a small force of dismounted 7th Cavalry troopers against the invaders. Custer, though a malignant narcissist, is personally quite brave - or, at the very least, utterly contemptuous of danger. He and his handful of veterans wade into the orcs, uruk-hai and assorted ocean-themed "Pirates of the Caribbean" villains, pistols and carbines cracking. (Note the Ron Wall Union artillerist in the background, behind the barricade; I once had Wall's entire, hand-painted rifled Parrott set, but this ram-rodder was the only figure to survive my divorce.)
Courage, unhappily, proves futile against the brute numbers and physical strength of my son's mid-childhood toys, and Custer and his noble lads are ruthlessly hacked, skewered and bludgeoned into oblivion.