"The eagles, the eagles" a voice cried. Silence. Everyone paused from their preparation to fight and squinted into the churning storm brooding sky. Thick dark clouds rolled across the sky obscuring their view. Suddenly they could see, it wasn't just the eagles, there were also griffins; the most powerful and vicious species in all of Middle Earth (they are on no one's side they only exist to cause havoc during large battles, leaving behind mass destruction. They are vigorous killers). They are majestic creatures, lords of the skies. Their long silky onyx feathers glistened in the intense lightning pierced sky—as they swooped down searching for their prey; hooked beaks tore at flesh as they attempted to carry flailing soldiers far off into the desolate hills.
Booming claps of thunder deafened everyone. Large silver coated Wargs descended the hills, dressed in armour, running like the wind, howling as they stampeded through the ranks of apprehensive soldiers patiently waiting for their orders. A lone elf stood cowardly in the lines of fully armoured metal soldiers, his pointed ears twitched in nervous anticipation as he trembled at the thought of what's going to happen next—he knew it was all over, griffins are a bad omen during war. Sharpened, shining swords were unsheathed preparing to spear the unfortunate creatures in their path. He drew his sword with much effort despite his strength in his slender built frame.
The day grew ever colder a touch of death prickled searchingly at the back of his neck. That was when the terror washed over him. People around him fought honourably— it was almost as if they were sparring —but this was real—Swords slashed, severed and slaughtered. It was a massacre. The smell of blood sat pungently in the air its poisonous fumes choking. Beriadan felt his head spinning. Screaming. Yelling. He didn't know what was going on. As the fighting began to heat up he slipped off into the safety of the trees at the top of the hill and watched the devastating scene play out. Swords clashed against armour. Howls filled the tense sky cutting into the atmosphere like a knife. The hills had rung with the sound of war. The sounds of hand to hand combat, adrenaline fuelled men, and death reverberated. His keen eyes scanned the battlefield assessing the destruction. The Orcs and goblins were winning; the men didn't stand a chance. Beriadan knew their only hope was him.
He suddenly found his courage and shot down the hill into the midst of the battle. With his new found strength he swung his blade like a madman, stabbing griffins; with a deafening screech they fell with a sharp crack crushing anything beneath them. The young elf ran on, slashing at Wargs in his wake. Suddenly an arrow shot passed his face skimming his cheek, a drop of blood trickled like a tear. He snapped his head to where it came from, a tall graceful looking man with a fine face stood atop a griffin loosing arrows at the oncoming Wargs, to his shock it was Legolas who had brought recruitments their chances of defeating the Wargs and griffins heightened. The sound of galloping hooves approached. A line of strong limbed horses stood at the top of the hill, coats glistening, manes flowing in the wind. Their riders were just as magnificent as the horses; they had sharp, stern features and carried bows upon their backs, swords at their sides, and long shields. It was a wonder to the eyes. A roar sounded vibrating across the valley like thunder. The remaining men looked up and began chanting, the elves high moral spread as fast as an epidemic. The men were rallying. His kin charged down the hill pushing headlong into the battlefield with their shields as their only protection. There was hope. Beriadan stood in the lines of soldiers regaining his confidence. He stormed into the midst of the battle with a sense of courage. The elves worked together pushing the enemy back until the last of the Wargs were killed or ran off into the mountains. The griffins, disillusioned flew away leaving the bloody battlefield behind them. Finally they were victorious after a long and gory battle.