It has been four days now since the battle started. Battle cries and the clash of metal once again filled the air. The hot afternoon sun beat down on the soldiers. The dead and the wounded continue to amass as the two warring kingdoms clashed on the plains of Antareth. Mighty lords and renowned heroes died as they clashed steel to steel, magic to magic, mind to mind. Strategies and tactics were abandoned, proving useless against sheer numbers. It has come down to this: a brutal battle in a head-on clash. Death and despair was everywhere.
Friends wept for friends as allies fell in battle. Cries for help and assistance was never-ending as sons wept for fathers, fathers wept for sons. In moments, lifelong friendships were destroyed by the quick stroke of a sword… in seconds, lives were torn apart. The fields were scattered with bodies; humans, elves, halflings, giants, death claimed them all. Lives, thoughts, hopes, memories, they were all consumed by the eternal wasteland, a place of no escape.
Of course, there were those stronger than others, more talented. Experienced swordsman wove their way through ranks of armored troops, their glistening swords striking through armor and steel, tasting blood. Wizards and sorcerers wiped out fields after fields of soldiers, themselves eventually dying to assassins, archers, or other spellcasters. Psionics locked themselves into psychic battles, where more than their dignity and powers were at stake. Their lives, as well as the lives around them were placed in danger as they fought world-shaking and mind-twisting battles.
A enormous half-giant fought alongside a heavily armored paladin. Their weapons were tainted with blood as they continued to fight the hordes of armed soldiers. Allies fell alongside them as they fought to keep their ground, pressed hard to stand their ground. The half giant parried lances and spears with his greatsword, roaring with fury as he slashed apart spears, arms, heads. They were all the same to his thirsty blade. The paladin, his warhorse having perished hours ago, swung his glistening longsword with fierce accuracy, parrying arrows and attacks with his heavy steel shield. His heavy armor protected him considerably, making him a walking stone beast. They were noticeably much more skilled than the rest of the fighters, and their aged battle scars and dented armor showed their deep experience and love for battle.
A sorceress was visible on a nearby cliff. However, her beauty was scarred with a horrifying gash across her face. A more frightening feature was that her once-smooth skin was slowly hardening, turning into scales and crystalyzing. Her breath curled and steamed, wisps of fire dispersing from her mouth. Her decision to follow the path of a devout Dragon Disciple was obviously working its effects. Her eyes squinted as she observed the field. She spot a cluster of enemy soldiers approaching their direction, and, grinning to show her fierce dragon's teeth while focusing her mind on them, she launched a huge fireball, with her left palm facing outwards in their direction. A few seconds later, a deafening explosion could be heard, followed by the searing heat mingled with the cries of people as those that were not instantly vaporized were thrown distances across the battlefield.
Two elves fought side-by-side as they fended off masses of swordsmen. Their allies were barely keeping up, reinforcements dwindling. The taller of the two elves wielded a sabre in one hand and a kukri in the other, and he seemed to dance among the blades and spears as he left behind a trail of pain and mayhem. His blades tasted blood repeatedly as they struck in gaps in the armor, in the unprotected areas of the soldiers. Those who thought themselves impenetrable found out their weaknesses, most often by having a limb or appendage severed by the elf's brisk kukri. The other elf wielded a light epee, but his red eyes gave away his true identity: he was a powerful psychic warrior. He created mayhem within the ranks of the soldiers by affecting their minds to turn them against each other, and paralyzing those who got close before decapitating them. Whenever a attacker got extremely close, he would thrust out his palm and send him flying.
From a higher vantage point, a man, dressed in a shining silver set of armor with a beautifully ornate sword hanging at his side, was watching the battle from a glass globe. A golden necklace hung from his neck, the intricate designs of an eagle grabbing a trident and a broken scythe etched onto its faceplate. His weary face glanced from the worried faces of his generals to his glass globe. Something caught his eye, and he focused on the scene: The Wargarth forces had brought an enormous rock ogre into the scene, standing 15 feet tall and powerfully built. As the monster began its rampage, the Daromin forces seemed to recede from the horrendous monster, fleeing from it's crushing blows. However, a lone figure remained. The ogre came to a stop, and squinted at the figure. Standing only 3'10" and holding an enormous war hammer, the dwarven fighter stood unmoving. He was clad in a dull-grey suit of armor, an eagle holding a trident and a broken scythe visible on the breastplate. He was of a stocky build, and his fluidity of motion even with so much armor proved his strength. The feature that set him apart was his brilliantly shining armlets, which seemed to glow with a radiant aura. The ogre, never having been opposed in this way before, had trouble processing in his mind the dwarf's apparent resistance, and, finally thinking out that this dwarf stood no chance against him, the ogre let out a fierce roar and charged the dwarf. The dwarf heaved his hammer, and chanted a few words. His hammer seemed to jerk alive, and his armlets and hammer started to sparkle madly in unison. The dwarf furrowed his brow, and swung the war hammer around twice before letting it go, aimed directly at the rock ogre. The ogre, clumsily charging the dwarf, tried to dodge the incoming hammer, but failed miserably as the hammer struck him in the upper left shoulder. A blinding explosion caused everyone within range to momentarily stop fighting and cover their eyes. Rock shards flew everywhere as the upper body of the rock ogre completely shattered. The remains, now lifeless, first dropped to its knees before the midsection, or what was left of it, landed with a thud. The hammer had mystically reappeared right next to the dwarven fighter, who heaved it back onto his shoulder. The fighting resumed, the rock pile forgotten and ignored. The cries of war harmonized once more.