Here is your revised passage in past tense, keeping your original writing style, enhancing flow and grammar, and ensuring it stays close to 1,000 words:
The tannery had produced leather, and artisans had crafted them into armor. Blacksmiths forged iron swords, which the soldiers eagerly equipped. As for Rolan, he wielded an axe and a shield.
Hardwood artisans had also made wooden shields, followed by bows and arrows, and then spears and lances—further advancing their weaponry. Torches were made as well, in case they needed to delve into dark places.
They trained recruits, and in time, they had prepared fourteen militia members. There were five Light Infantry and three Archers, all selected by Rolan for the mission. Two Scouts were assigned to lead the way and survey the path for potential dangers. They also brought meat for their rations, and their camping supplies were packed and accounted for. Well-equipped and well-prepared, Aizen delivered his final briefing before they departed.
"We will conquer the castle, and goblins await us! Make sure to return alive and kicking. Don't die on me!"
"Aye, Sire!" the men roared in response.
They left through the wooden gates, and several of the villagers came to send them off. Though they should have been working, they took the time to wish the soldiers well.
They passed through the gates and ventured into the forest. The Great Altemera Forest stood before them—an ancient woodland filled with towering trees and hidden paths.
Birdsong echoed faintly through the dense canopy, while the wind howled softly between the trunks. The temperature fell as the sunlight struggled to pierce the thick curtain of leaves overhead.
By afternoon, they rested. Their feet ached, and the journey had already worn on their muscles. They made camp in a wide clearing, placing firewood at the center. A campfire was lit, and a cooking spit was placed above the flames. Tents were erected around the fire, forming a loose circle.
The meat was cooked into soup, and volunteers rotated guard duty for the night. The chirping of crickets began soon after, and Thurn huddled near the fire to warm himself, his axe and shield resting beside him. An owl hooted from a nearby branch.
He chatted with the others while they ate, blowing on spoonfuls of hot broth. The meat had been seasoned with salt and ginger—simple, but enough to lift their spirits.
Night passed quietly. Rolan slept on his bedroll, deep in rest. Morning came, and several guards were still awake, having only gotten brief moments of sleep while taking shifts.
"Let us break camp and get ready to resume our travels," Rolan ordered.
"Yes, Sire!" one of the guards replied.
They extinguished the fire with dirt and ate the remaining cold soup. Once packed, they continued their journey north. The sun was still low in the east as they marched on toward the castle.
Later that day, they set up camp again near a river. As night fell, wolves began to stir in the shadows, their eyes glinting from the tree line. The guards stayed vigilant, and some barely slept.
At dawn, the wolves attacked. Rolan was jolted awake and immediately grabbed his axe and shield. He charged toward the chaos, joining the battle. The guards had already been fending off the beasts for several tense minutes.
Wolves snarled and barked, flashing their fangs in a show of intimidation. They lunged from all directions, encircling the camp.
Rolan slammed his shield into one of them, then spun and cleaved through its thick pelt. With a heavy swing, he decapitated the beast.
More wolves howled in the distance, calling for reinforcements. Rolan clicked his tongue in irritation and dashed toward another group, helping the guards who were on the defensive. Each strike of his axe sent enemies flying, blood splattering across the ground.
One wolf lunged at him, and he bashed its skull with his shield, making it whimper and collapse.
Rolan kept up his assault, his strength unmatched as he cut down several more. His fierce momentum drew the attention of the remaining wolves, who surrounded him, thinking they could overwhelm him.
They were wrong.
The guards panicked as they saw their lord encircled. But Rolan blocked incoming bites, bashed with his shield, then spun to strike. The wolves yelped, faltered, and soon began to retreat, knowing they were outmatched.
One wolf turned to flee, and the rest followed its lead, slinking back into the forest.
"Haha! Take that!" one of the guards shouted.
"We won! Haha!" another added.
They harvested the pelts, though they discarded the meat—no one wanted to eat dog flesh.
Breaking camp once more, they resumed their journey. The castle was near, and with it, the battle that awaited them.
Finally, they caught sight of their target. The castle loomed ahead, its flags tattered and faded by time.
They observed goblins patrolling the walls. Some wore crude armor and carried jagged weapons. They looked weak—but Rolan knew better. Goblins were small, but not to be underestimated. Their teamwork, cunning, and swarming tactics had taught humanity many hard lessons.
The group found a hidden spot to rest and prepare. Cooking was out of the question—the smoke would alert the enemy. They needed to strike while the iron was hot.
Daylight remained, and their strength had yet to wane. The scouts, already familiar with the layout of the ruined castle, led the way.
As they approached, goblin archers spotted them and loosed their arrows. The light infantry raised their shields while their own archers returned fire. One goblin was struck in the shoulder and collapsed with a screech.
More goblins poured out from the castle gates—eight of them, weapons drawn.
"Shields up!" Rolan commanded.
The infantry formed a wall of shields. The goblins leapt onto them, snarling and foaming at the mouth.
The human warriors held their ground. Swords thrust through gaps in their defense, slashing down goblins with brutal precision. One by one, the enemy fell.
They pushed forward, breaching the gates and charging into the castle. Inside, more goblins appeared, but Rolan barked fresh orders, keeping their formation tight.
The enemies hurled themselves at the shield wall and were repelled with bashes and slashes. Arrows flew from behind the infantry line, dropping goblins before they could regroup.
Minutes passed, and eventually, no more enemies came.
Their enemies lay dead, and the soldiers alone remained standing.
A victorious cheer rang out across the courtyard. Rolan exhaled, calming his breath, and gave the order to move in deeper.
They swept through the castle, clearing every room, every corridor. No goblin was spared—young or old. The stronghold was completely purged.
"All enemies must be eradicated. Cleanse this place!" Rolan ordered.
After hours of bloody fighting, the castle was finally theirs.
They burned the corpses—sending a message to any who remained in the north.
The castle had been conquered....