The Last Battle
Eld is song and stories. Though by what is going on, it is coming to it's last notes and last pages. Sweeping over the world, past the old rubble of broken towers that once held damsels in distress and the stretches of forests and plains blackened and corrupted. Smoke from pyres as we follow the trails and roads northward. And we meet one of the primary characters of this ill ending tale.
A large elf woman sitting on a stag upon a bluff, overlooking the armies marching in beneath her. This is the Golden Queen. Inivia Sunleaf. Queen of the Forest. Armor in gold, her surcoat with a red and green. A golden sun with oak leaves as sun rays and a skull in it's center. Red scale cloak over her back and drooping over the stags back. Her ears are lowered and from her visor, green fire comes from the eye slits. Shield over her back and a sword at her side and a long lance in hand, she slumps in her saddle. Dried blood and dents are marring her armor and a limp pennant with a red hoof upon it'd green background hangs from her lance. She knows her part in it.
Inivia growled as she watched the remaining armies of the world march. Though march wasn't a good word for it, perhaps. Ragged lines in step, going around the pyres of the dead as the smoke and ashes drifted and swirled around them. Over head the arial armies of griffons and dragons, doing a poor job of cooperating. Dirigibles and the last of the flying ships keeping them in line when their masters or others would not. Below the bluff she was on, she could see soldiers from the Sun Lands marching under the colossus of the goddess Senssa that the Arch-Mage Selina rode on top of, beside their golem armies. The griffons were there's too, which set little precedence for the human nation and their monster kin.
Gnolls, minotaurs, bastets, sobek's and the other monsters were with them. The giants of the Sun Land's with their elephants and human servants. Many of their clerics and priests crying out to the Elder and the gods. The armies of lizard and dragon folk marching beside them and the Celestial armies. She held them in some regard, as the elves kept the greenskin's in their place. Though their armies had taken massive casualties, the armies of green elves still holding the most ranks in calvary and archers.
Both their black skinned kin from the Sun Lands, the jungle elves were after the greenskin armies from this continent, led by a massive war chief on a large drake and the matron of the Fisheater clan. Beside them were the trolls of the Southern Reaches, the golden eyed and black skinned invaders that had been a recent invasions. The Bloodtusk's led them beside the witch Liza. A foe of her own. With her was Edwin, one of the necromancers with skulls floating beside him and the constructs for the spirits. With them, a hobgoblin escort in burnished bronze and gold armor, walked the Goblin King.
Beside them, led by Baba Yaga, not in her flying pestle and mortar, was the armies of the North. She rode in a chariot pulled by two large white goats with curling black horns, a white raven on her shoulder and her white hair blowing in the wind. The now young witch had her Lords and Ladies of Winter, the Girl with the Golden locks and her three celestial bears and the barbarian hordes. Or, what was left of them. Hulking men and women in scale and chain mail with large swords and axes. Families and clans with a large number of round painted shields and any other weapon they could gather.
Near them, the giants of the north and the mountains, looking more barbaric then their southern cousins, still with their own mammoths that the north used with their other sorts. Walking among the giants were the ice trolls and the snow elves. The elves led by Queen Alea, riding on an armored bear among her wolf and bear riders and berserkers. Alea saw her watching and turned her head and held it high. It was the bitches husbands fault that Inivia had to kill him and kidnap her for Titania. She gave the cattiest wave she could to the woman behind her back and snarled.
As she turned her stag, there was her armies of the Fea Forest. The green and red clad armies, her own golden armored Crimson Hoofs as the vanguard. They were before the Golden March, the high and gold elf armies, with scatterings of the remaining human nations. She watched a flag that was blue with a crimson hawk on it, thumbing her cloak. Riding on a broom beside the High Court was Glinda. At her side was the wizard Boris the Blue. Between those two and Liza and Edwin, they were The Four. The ones responsible for this, questionable alliance with the greenskin's. And the human nations. It was not Inivia's preference.
With them came the Wrathsword's and the Feldenhammer's, leading the dwarven armies. The delvers as the leading armies, orchard dwarves bringing scouts and archers and the nomads bringing their goat and wolf calvary's. Following after them were the Guild's and mercenaries. Alchemists and artificers walking beside Merchant's paid sell swords. Cooks and bakers in the supply lines and any under remaining guards and those who could hold even a knife as a weapon.
There were still more armies. Across the tundra and on the Steel Ice Sea's and in the last of the Sky Tooth Mountain range, where the Towers dwarves once held, were the armies of drow, mountain trolls, more goblins and dwarves that thought they could better represent true vengeance then she did. On the sea's were the sea elves and trolls and their beasts from the deeps and the bottle made Paladins. Both were led by her fellow Queens. And, they were to go make one final act of desperation. She brought her stag around and faced what was before her once more.
Ziggurats had been built up in the last ten years and the Liches were falling back to them. All around them, light and shadows bent over and around them. She could hear the song of Eld, crying out in pain over it. This blight that was upon them was their own fault. They'd created it and now they would face it. The magic of the world was fading and the world itself was dying. The dead leeched it to survive. And they'd made the dead walk. She growled, little effect it would have and stayed. She was in no hurry. It'd been almost fifteen years of grueling war against the undead. If they failed, there would be no rest. It would have been better to eat them then make them rise. And they would call a meet once again to waste more time.