The rain poured, down it streams of water it came and sunk the ground in to wet marsh lands, and mud puddles quaked under the tremor of the enemy march. Fear, it's the unwelcome guest to waiting a battle, how much longer did they have to simulate their own demise to pass the time, the various ways to die this day. By sword, by arrow, under the feet of the troll or talons of a fell beast, crushed by a boulder, feasted upon by a warg, painfully, quickly, early or late, falling like some weak child or valiantly in a glaze of glory? All things left undone, the words unsaid, the love undelivered, the life not lived for on the horizon came the dark scythe wielding reaper. The dark days, when was the last we saw sunrise, a dawn on a day filled with joy, where did the moments of blissful existence go? Washed away down the hills like rain to the ground, where were the times where we sat on the grass as the children ran laughed and sang? Where the beauty of gardens spread like a ray of light, and we took the time to stare. Where are the times where countries were at peace, so far away are the memories, so dim is recollections and so long ago were the times.

Along the west bank, the riders of Rohan, to the right flank the Witches Lighters and on foot warriors, to the aft march the towering Ents, their large strides had them hall into position quickly, "Piper?" Paige ask, turning around to see what the noise behind her was, "Why are the trees walking?" turning around to address the ludicrous statement of the youngest.
"I…am no Tree!" came a bellowing echo from above,
"My mistake," she said laughing nervously "looks like a tree!"
"Are those eagle?" asked Phoebe as several squadrons in a V formation flew over them and began a reconnaissance run along the enemy lines, moving to out flank them at either corner, while the main assault would met head on. Gandalf rode in from the east to join finally join them as he made last minute checks to assure that the battle would favor them.
"40 Ents, 10 Eagles; not enough to break the lines of Mordor," from the skies settling to the right, huge dragons, green on scale and wings as white as the feather dove, its body frail thin but strong and light in the sky. They heads long and sleek with flay of white fin. Brown rope surrounded the head, the leases head by a Valkyrie who sat on the shoulders of these giants, perched in a saddle and shielded by armor. "Yet still outnumbered."

Laughter broke out among the front lines, where the Charmed and the Fellowship stood they heard it among their company, a light giggle roared into a sadistic cackle, what raised every hair and sent blood cold with an icy chill. Phoebe lungs heaved as she couldn't control her outburst of hilarity. Stumbling across the ground, as if drunken, powers of empathy running amok with her emotions and mind. "They're…all scared," she said with great difficulty, mustering words without a gasps of breath, "They are petrified of dying," some would assume it was good news that she addressed this revelation to the army if it were not for the change in view, "You're all gonna die," it was not the fear she felt from the Armies of Mordor but their mocking, "This is no legion to stand against us, Witches, men and Lighter all your bloods will stain this land," Horror and the realization swept through the lines of forces. The enemy knew no fear for they marched against lambs to the slaughter. A left hook from Piper and Phoebe was slapped into sense. At the last minute before they made the charged she had to destroy all thoughts of hope and courage with her outburst, and she felt that anger from her sister. How to recover from this, how to ignore that outrage of her uncontrollable powers, why?
"Piper," Gandalf came behind, "The soldier's strengths of characters wanes, a shadow of doubt has been cast upon them,"
"She is right,"
"That is not true,"
"We can't win,"
"Address the armies,"
"And say what, nothing will make them think we'll win,"
"Courage is your best defense, we can prevail from this."

One step forward, then two, away from her forces and closer to meeting the enemy. She turned to face them, her army, her friends, and the perhaps the last faces she will see before dying. Faces for dispair, and no hope in their eyes, a death march of Uruk's drew closer and the darkness like a cloud of ashe filled the horizon.

"Stand your ground, stand your ground!" she didn't know whether she started on a good note but it was a start nevertheless on the speech which would hype them up ready for battle, "None of us, None of us! Haven't fought till we nearly dead, work till our finger bled, just to die and have our bodies stomped into the marsh land! Dark have been these days of late, not any more, this far and no further, fell deeds have woken, now for wrath and the scythe weilding reaper til vengence is sought!"
And under the might sound of the horn, the armies of the west charged with the same fury and anger as Helm Hammerhand and with the iron fist of the wicca they took the battle for their own. The witches and lighters, each armed with the elven falx or the sword from the smithy of Rohan and shield broad enough to take the might of a Dwarves axe charged as a great host in defence of this world. Pikes and Spears would meet them along the line of black armour, the jaw of flesh eating teeth welcomed the arrival of their feast, and their yellow eye widened. Piper lead 5 feet ahead of her host and with a swift hand she blew the enemy before her into shards of metal and flesh and with her falx cut through those who attacked her. The two great armies clashed, in perhaps the last stand of the Alliance as each battled for their lives and fought for a grain of hope. The crowd emmersed themselves in the chaos and carnage, cry of rage and screams of pain as the battle slowly fell in favour of the enemy, the relentless nature of the flesh eating orcs gave fear to those to fending off the animals of the Dark Land. The red blood drained from the bodies of flesh which lied limp on the ground and battered under the mighty feet of the Uruk Hai, and pain and despair in their eyes, the depiction of their final moments. The sky rained with blood of fell beast, eagle and dragons, as with great speed of wind these creatures fought each other when they didn't descend their talons into the enemy lines. Ent against Troll, no match did the Olog Hai have against the Elders of Fanghorn and their towering might, until the flames were lit and the balance of power was equal. And the burned they did, people trees and bird, they fought their hardest till the last possible chance of retreat til the enemy had them surround and no escape did they have for their doomed as signalled by the black march. Without concerns of the enemy that could be behind the warriors of the Alliance pressed force without hinderence temperance or restraint for their fury.
A fell beast flew overhead, Piper noticed this one more than the other for his steal crown of blades, and a mighty mace, he soared above and headed only a few miles away to the complex, they were heading to HQ. "Paige" the blonde witch looked up the sky and understood instantly, "Phoebe hold the line" she called back to her sister before grabbing Paige's hand for the Orb. Appearing in the dark tunnels, they sprinted to the vault, a named dubbed to the unsecure room with more locks than the others, only to find the door in splinters and the last Shard gone, and like a deep dark beat of the drum, he stalked them from behind. The Witch King of Angmar. Before his sword could fall onto the head of the Witch, Phoebe drew hers in their defence. Wounded he fell to his kness before stumbling back onto them. "I told you hold the line"
"Got a premonition off a Nazgul you can at least be thankful,"
"Thanks," and with three last stabs, one from each sister the Lord of the Nazgul was killed not by a living man, but from three living witches. Searching the heap of black robes and chrome armour they found not the Shard but heard the footsteps of another Ulairi hurried away.