The bodies gave off a slow mistlike steam as the sun slowly set over the glades, cooling the blood-stained grass everywhere. Twitching horses, broken chariots and the smell of death hung in the air everywhere. At the gates of the small elven hall some figures sat, some hunched, others straight, while some more slumped, and others lay stretched on the cold grass. The roaring of the sea was heard over the hills, and the salt in the air was only dimmed as the predominant scent by the foul retching stench of burning flesh.
As Glorion had his hands tended by the healer he looked out over the field that had gone from a pleasant villa’s garden into a battlefield in less than ten minutes. Little had he known when he rode into it along with this companions this morning that it was the last time he would ever see some of them alive. Regret clouded his eyes as a tear fell, stinging as the salt ran down a wound on his left cheek.
The warning had been subtle, and not before the first heavy dark metal bolt had struck down some of his escort had he noticed the dead sentry on top of the hall’s parapet, nor the hidden host of Druchii at the edge of the garden, with their backs to the hills. He had not been fast enough, and before he had formed his battleline his scribe was already dead, and the Reavers scattering under the hail of crossbows. Only by divine providence had the shadowwarriors (who he despised personally, but now silently thanked) arrived through the forest to the north, and engaged the enemy flank. Had they not they would have swept down and finished them all off. Not even his magic, or that of his college; students and wards, had been enough to stop the Druchii’s assault. They had had help. He had not seen any of the hags himself, but the muttering from the bandaged head of Halwassean, his third student, was to the effect that there had been more than one hag, and that they had all fled when the battle turned.
The battle had turned, as Glorion had wrenched the grip of the metal in one of the foul chariots to his will, and forced it to stand still. He had heard the yelling from the druchii crew and the bawling from the lizards dragging the thing, but the wheels would not turn, and it could not manoeuvre. He had kept his concentration even though crossbow-bolts where whipping passed his head by this time, but he would not stand to have the chariot turn and kill the turning escort-riders. They had seen the space in the enemy line and charged in, and as the lances of the knight on the other side of that space had long ago turned into ash and lead (another trick Glorion was most pleased with) they slammed into them, and drove them down on their lances. The hooves had crushed druchii bone and pressed heavy armour into the lawn of this garden. The lizard had fled into the hills, and the noble among them had screeched in defiance. He had brandished some amulet and stood his ground, but Passarnas, Gliorion’s first student, had seen it and quickly woven the unmaking on the amulet, and sapped its foul and arcane strength. As the glow of the amulet had diminished, so had the light in the eye of the dark noble, as he realised his folly. He had screamed in challenge, calling in some broken accent for honour of a warrior, but by then the horses were upon him, trampling him. Even if the escort had wanted to oblige him in a duel it was just too late.
Now he sat there in the grass, his books stained with blood. He didn’t even know if it was his own life that now stained the old pages. But victory had been his
Mage on Steed x3
Mage on foot
6+6+5 Silverhems with full command, one group with slight magical banner of Ellyrion
5 Reavers with Command
6 Dragon Princes with Banner of Sorcery
8 Shadow Warriors
Noble on Cold one
12+15 Warriors with RXB
5 Dark Riders
Cold one Chariot
5 Cold one Knights - Command
12 Witch elves - Command
12 Executioners - Command
2 Reaper Boltthrowers
Endresult: Dark Elves 670
High Elves 2900