In my world, the Enemy made a Ring of Power. [ Maglor murmurs softly, tones lilting in the storytellers rythm ] In it he bound much of himself, and so became more powerful than any other that still walked in Middle-earth. But the Ring was cut from his hand, in war, and lost. When it came to light again the Free Peoples sought to destroy it, but the Ring spoke to the hearts of those who bore it, and those around it, tempting and twisting them to evil ends. In the end, it was the simplest of peoples, the hobbits, who managed to venture past the guarded walls and gathered armies, there into the very heart of the Enemy's stronghold, and cast it back into the fires from which it was made, the only thing that could destroy it. And so it is said, truly, that the hands of the small do the work while the wise debate.