Every battle between the Iron Crag and the Twin Daughters was extremely swift and relentless. Vengeful Knights and cool, collected Rangers laid waste to every and any foe they came across. The few actual battles that occured were rather small, and ended in few casualties for the Knights or Rangers. The most eventful battle came at the Twin Daughters. It seemed that the enemy hadn't occupied the two fortresses, but instead camped behind them. Their major mistake was coming out too soon. They regrouped into one attack force of Goblins and Orcs between the two fortresses and surged forward, about 5,000 strong, half the size of the attacking force of Humans. The Rangers devastated the charging enemy troops, and the remainder broke on the line of heavily armored Knights. Slipping through the cracks in the line, and wrapping around to flank the enemy were the Rangers. They went into both hand-to-hand combat with swords, and continued to chip away at the enemy from either side with massive volleys of arrows that rained down upon the Orcs and Goblins endlessly.
That battle ended with minimum casualties, the entire enemy force was decimated, and about 80 casualties were counted among the Humans. Only 30 of them were fatalities. With that a single Ranger on horseback was sent to the Iron Crag...
Meanwhile.
Along the Western shores of the Easulan River came a new ally, unexpected but not unappreciated. Mages of Cethindol Tower had travelled to Tharkas Castle with a propsition and a promise. If the armies of the world could unite and lay seige to the Rift, the Mages would build a gate there and seal the Rift shut. So now the team of Archmages were ready and waiting in the Iron Crag for the signal to move up into the attack.
No sooner did the Ranger reach the fortress did the Elves move up off the Northern Flanks of the Easulan, and the Iron Crag empty of it's 10,000 soliders. The Easulan Checkpoint was also emptied of the Elves who were housed there, and the entire army was going to come to a head at the base of the Rift. A daunting 26,000 unit army came together in the Vieth Plains just South of the Rift, Knights and Rangers made up the front line, Mages were on both flanks of the army and the Elves were in the back ranks ready to unleash a deadly volley of 5,000 arrows into the air.
The army of the free peoples of Hypeltheon marched slowly upon the Rift. Massive chunks of stone engulfed in flame fell from the sky, changing the landscape with every passing second. Every man and every elf among this Vanguard was shocked when they saw their opposition. A staggering force of 30,000 Orcs, Goblins, and 20 Arch-Demons circling the sky over the Rift. The air in this place was foul, worse than the most staggering of stenches ever concocted by mankind. All about them death and the putruid presence of the unholy beat down upon the army's spirits. There were few standing there that day who's wills were strong enough to resist this overflowing evil. It seemed like the area itself was permeating with evil, piercing the souls of all who stood before it. Looming over the future battlefield was The Rift. Burning with an undeniable presence, the Rift unleashed a crimson glow that showered down over the plains, in the eyes of all it looked as if a battle had already taken place, and the blood had been spread across the fields. Derhlith and his elite Ranger squad had been staggered out, spread in among the ranks of Knights at the front of the field while the rest of his kind were in the back, ready to unleash a curtain of arrows when the battle begins. The youthful Half-Elf didn't seem to be terribly effected by the evils of the field, unlike those in his company who had looks of doubt splashed upon their usually cool faces.
There were three other people there who could withstand the darkness: Athagar - leader of the White Cloud Army of Tharkas, Gil-Galad - Captain of the Haladrim, and Mithren - Grand Archmage of Cethindol Tower. These four men would be leading the battle against the teeming ocean of Orcs and Goblins.
Suddenly the ground began to rumble, and the order to charge was given. Thousands of Knights and Rangers burst forward in long strides, rank-after-rank of men rushed off to impending doom at the base of all their sorrows - The Rift. Moments after the Expeditionary Forces Of Hypeltheon began their charge, the Orkish Hoard began its own. Two dreadful armies with rage and vengance exploding from their very skin went rushing blindly at one another. On either flank were the Mages - as soon as the battle began, they started their incantations to shatter the Rift and close the hole from which pure evil comes forth. Fifty hards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty... The armies rushed at each other, trying to take the most ground before hitting a battle-line. The Elves had quickly organized themselves into twin ranks and unleashed a volley of 5,000 arrows into the sky. Twenty quickly became Thirty once again as the Rangers, who had been split between the Elves and the Knights, unleashed their volleys of around 3,000 arrows in scattered ranks and battle lines. Once they'd fired, the Rangers continued their charge, quickly catching up with the Knights of the White Cloud Army.
Building tensions were released like a gale of wind that rose from the depths of Hell to the bounds of Heaven. The mixed ranks of Knights and Rangers suddenly collided with that of Orcs and Goblins. Finally, the long-awaited battle had begun. The Elves and Rangers in the back ranks of the attack unleashed another volley of arrows, an unbelieveable curtain of 8,000 wood-shafted missiles poured through the air and fell relentlessly upon the enemy's back ranks, dwindling their numbers slightly. At the core of the battle things were not going well. Knights and Rangers alike were being overtaken by the Orcs and Goblins, hellish and inhuman cries broke forth from the lines as the battle raged on. A giant flaming rock fell to the right flank of the battle, sending thousands of shards of flaming rock into the fray, slaying Man and Beast alike. The Mages, observing the plight of those giving their lives made a change of action. Their change would slow the closure of the Rift, but would hopefully aid in the battle. Gil-Galad was given the order to charge, his Elvish warriors sent out the final volley of arrows and then dropped their bows, pulling forth curved rune blades, lances, spears, and swallows. Then, with blinding speed they took off, leaving the Rangers to unleash a final volley for themselves before making the charge.
The Knights and Rangers finally organized their battle and started pushing back the enemy, every few minutes they took another few feet of ground, but casualties were high. All the mages regrouped in the back center ranks of the battle, they took up four ranks, the front line became an attack team while the other three focused on the Rift. Elvish Lancers leapt high into the air, making a vast wall of shimmering gold and mithril colored armor, lances and spears and swords aimed towards the ground as they were suspended thirty, maybe forty feet in the air. At the same time the Elvish Rangers broke up into the front lines and began to aid in the battle. Lightning fell upon their foes like rain as the Elvish army of trained Lancers collieded with the heads of their foes, taking out a whole line of Orcs who were getting near the front end of the attack. Those caught between the Knights and the Lancers were quickly decimated, and the Knights moved up to aid their Elven kin. Another shield of lightning rain fell as the Lancers took to the sky once again. They fell like a massive hammer, crushing the Goblins and Orcs that stood beneath them. Once again the Knights, Rangers, and Elves moved up and slaughtered their foes.
Gil-Galad grabbed Derhlith by the arm, and handed him the rune blade that he had made thousands of years before. It was still in pristine condition, and was just as beautiful as it ever had been. "A gift..." Then, in a last act - the Elf rallied the Elvish Rangers, "For our kin, and brothers-in-arms, we shall take the field!" Derhlith commanded his men high over the yells and chaos of the battle, and they made a gap for the Elves to rush through. Gil-Galad and his comrades broke through the enemy line, shattering the last twenty ranks of Orcs and Goblins. Soon they were separated entirely from aid, and there were five or six ranks between them and aid - they had broekn in for a suicide attack. The Lancers of Gil-Galad's company leapt into the air once again, coming down upon the foes around them, temporarily saving their own lives. The battle now raged on two sides, the Elves of Gil-Galad, and the Men of Athagar and Derhlith.
Slowly the field was becoming less red in light, and more crimson in natural color. The Rift was closing, the Mages were almost done with the first phase. However, thousands had died for them to get this far. Soon, a surge of force came from the enemy - it had seemed that Gil-Galad and his men had finally been slain, and thus they could turn full force against the tide once again. The enemy was nearly crushed, but now the Rift was closed. They had no where to retreat to, and they weren't going to die without taking down as many of their foes as they could. A final burst of lightning fell through the air, smiting the back ranks of Orcs and Goblins who stood at-ready to fight off the surging tide of Men. With the Rift fully closed, the Mages now turned their attention to the rest of the battle. Athagar gave Derhlith hte command to retreat, which he shouted out to his men. The Knights and Rangers of Hypeltheon, with a few survivors from Gil-Galad's force began a swift retreat while the mages of Mithren prepared their final blow that they were to deal to the enemy.
The fields were now covered with the corpses of the fallen, both Good and Evil alike. The final string, a mighty blast of lightning that cut the clouds and shook the earth fell down upon the battlefield, rendering the remnants of the enemy unto the depths of Hell. With the battle over, a calm, cool breeze blew over the plains. With the bulk of the evil gone, the sun broke through the clouds and shed light on the carnage that had began just an hour before. Once the Knights and Rangers accounted for their losses, and the losses of their comrades, it came to a dreadful 18,000, including the sacrifice of Gil-Galad and his Haladrim. Those who survived the battle counted themselves among the blessed. Men didn't know what to do. Some just stood in awe of what had occured, others broke down and cried - though they didn't know why...
It was over. The battles and losses that had occured over the past two years were not in vain - Tharkas, with aid from its allies, had won the day. Now came the long laborous journey of rebuilding their shattered lands, and lending comfort to those who knew the fallen - for casualties over the two years ran incredibly high. A shattered realm, merely a shadow of what it once had been - would it ever be the same again after this disasterous war?
Time may heal all wounds...
