Reigning in the mount, she paused, letting her crystalline gaze roam over the array of fires below, and then above and just gave a quiet nod. Around her the air carried an unnatural feeling. She could sense the prickle moving over her exposed skin and just smiled lightly. Mab. The Ancient was cavorting about and meddling with the weather, for her scent was easily caught in the wind, the musty taint of age and madness. High above not a star shown nor even a hint of a moon to show it�s face for clouds were thick and threatening, but if the old witch thought she would unleash a storm of ice and snow, she would be sadly mistaken.

A shift in the saddle and the slim woman was soon moving upwards, taking the staggered steps towards the plateau where she could see the dotting of canvas and more warming fires that littered the darkness there. Where she passed the chill started to abate. Shields rising silently at her mental commands and she and the black mere picked their way across, reaching the last fire before she circled back.

A pause and she caught the flickers of more fires below, down in the valley on the opposite side of the rigid peak and just gave a soft melodic laugh. She knew instantly they were the surprise. Yet, she still took the paths downwards, enfolding even them within the invisible bubble. It wouldn�t dispel the cold, for this time of year it came naturally, but she could protect them from the magery at work and Mab�s touch if only for the night.

In the distance she could see the towering of the vast Wyldefrome forest that stretched to the clear blue river and even past that, the peaks of the barren mountains capped with ice and snow rose casting a faint glow in the darkness. Having seen the beauty of this land many times in the past, she wasn't surprised that others might come to covet it and that had finally come to pass. Of course she doubted they would succeed. Trevinor was not one to lie down willingly and he had yet lost any battle as far as she knew. With perhaps the only exception being his wife.

"I suspected you had arrived Dal." The low gruff words catching her attention and she shifted to look over a shoulder at the man coming towards her.

"Greetings to you as well Jonathin." She let him help her down from the tall perch in the saddle and her leather-clad form was soon standing upon the earth with a glance up at him. " I see Mab's been rather busy this evening as well. She won't even notice that her cold wind is having no effect. Those below will think you and yours have had a very uncomfortable night. Should be something of an advantage."

"It's early yet, only just gone on 8. I sent Trev off to rest, before he's of no use to any of us." Smirking Jona started to lead the willowy woman towards a waiting tent.

"Stressed is he?"At his curt nod she couldn't help the faint smile that pulled on her lips. "All as is as expected, but I am sure the battle will be short lived with us as victor."

"Aye, but there is a cost to it. At present we are outnumbered but I am confident we will still win, for our troops are veterans to such conflicts." The gruff tone holding that typical arrogance so commonly noticed with the two brothers.

Slipping inside the warmth of the waiting tent she paused to gaze about for a moment. Surprised to find it far more comfortable then she had expected. Unlike earlier times, this one had an actual bed and heater. "Camp gear seems to have become a bit more upscale these days I see."

A rasped snort at her words while the large man flicked a derisive glance over the place and then replied. "Such things make some soft but Trev insisted you be provided with such comforts."

"I shall make a point to thank him tomorrow then.?" Laying the heavy blue velvet cloak over the back of a chair found inside the confines of her tent she then turned and gave Jona a serene smile. "Now, off with you. I just expended quite a bit of energy and need to recharge for the morning activities."

A short bow at her request and he was turning to leave. "I will wake you before sunrise Dal. Rest if you can."

"Oh I shall Jona." She called out to his departing form before settling down on the small but plush bed and was soon falling into a recuperative sleep.

Take these chains away Free my hands from bondage Can't explain away Avarice will kill you in time

Violent upheaval Cities drenched in flame Wickedness we know we can contain

Who will we murder now See what we are becoming An onyx veil that filters out the light I'll savor this anger My hate makes me stronger Disturbed - "Avarice"

It was a weak dawn that broke the edge of the mountains. The murky light struggling past the thick heavy clouds and gray mist while preparations on both sides continued with a eerie silence that to some might find to be disconcerting. Sound was muffled while supplies were moved and forces adjusted and easing into place.

Tension was high and easily felt as many of the commanders convened for one last meeting. This may be disguised as a battle to defend lands, but all that surrounded the long table now, were more then aware the coming conflict was only the beginning. Wylde suspected Mab's madness was feeding this. She was the puppet master in this game. Rather like a petulant and spoiled child she was building up allies against Corwyn and his own for what ever insults real or perceived he had inflicted upon her.

It was his duty to defend the lands of his birth and where some might be ready to die at the effort, the feeling he carried was that of rage and far from fear. Insults to him and his noble line would not be tolerated. This realm had been earned on the blood of many centuries before. That very blood coursed in his veins and he would not shame their memory by losing it to the weak greed of others.

Most that stood in support were aware that this madness was not rational. Mab had the ability to feed upon the most basic emotions. Greed, jealousy and vanity being only a few she often used. Her antics of late have become more noticeable. As peace and reason had started to bloom within the realms of the True Blood, small pockets of those still loyal to her ways had started to send rumblings of dissention outwards. Branches made to feed the decay of the ages and start the rotting yet again.

Wylde's confidence was not mere show. His instincts, honed over the years, and the beast within was stirring, laying a cold calm upon his features. What ever might come of his battle, he knew all he had done up to this point had been for his people. If it meant he would die with his own life force fading into the very ground he defended, it was the price he was willing to pay.

His one eyed gaze swung towards the heavily armored forms moving towards him. In this gloomy light they were an impressive sight the three that drew closer. DeAuster moving with ease even though the gear he wore had to weight a ton. The two others on each side of them moved with the same curious grace, and any practiced eye could simply tell these men lived for the battle.

Wrists clasped in the usual warriors greeting and Wylde offered a deferential nod to DeAuster and his cadre. "Greetings to ye Lucius."

"And to you also Wylde." Returning the greeting smoothly, the Daemon lord managed to encompass the others nearby as well. "My apologies for being late, but our healers have just arrived and I wanted to be sure they were in place."

"Their aid is appreciated." The molten eye moving beyond DeAuster to the two men standing a step behind him and a brow rose under the thick patch on Wylde's hard features.

Noting the look, Lucius glanced over at the pair. "Two of my legion Commanders. Terrak and Jerrak." Both lowered their heads stiffly and in unison while the matched sets of dark blue eyes glittered in the helms.

Two he knew and while he wouldn't admit it, he was relieved that Lucius had not brought any of the Undead Commanders. He had personally fought with them on a number of occasions and respected them all, but with the allies of the Lands around, he wasn't as confident they would be as comfortable around such creatures.

Once all introductions were completed, the conversation quickly turned to battle tactics. Suggestions and plans discussed and agreed upon.

"Thareld's forces I suspect will be in the second wave. His mounted calvary will have the advantage then." Jonathin stated with a blunt finger pointing down at the map spread out upon the long camp table.

"Aye. Tactically speaking that would be the most likely." Hand resting against his chin as he inspected the array then gave a short nod. "Ye think ye can handle those Lucius?"

"Indeed." A faintly dangerous gleam radiated from steel gray eyes.

Lord Herlune, an old family friend and ally of the Wyldefrome's, stood silently, listening with a faint rocking movement. When he finally spoke all eyes moved towards him. "I recommend keeping at least one thousand men to the rear. Nae good to play your hand fully in conflict, Lad, for tis" sure they will be holding some back for a last push. A common practice of Veygwen and has worked in his favor."

"Aye, ye be right." Another flick of one eye over the plans and he turned to look at Lord Kauldron. "Ye mind taking rear Rocket?"

"Not at all. I rather like the idea of charging in to rescue the rest of your hides." The younger Elf smirked and crackled his knuckles at the request.

Mere moments after confirming the plans, a young messenger arrived, moving to speak quietly with Captain Morean. He in turn stepped towards the brothers with a frown lining his distinguished visage. "Our scouts just reported in. There is a large contingent of troops heading this way Milord. Coming up behind us."

That brought a dark growl from the taller brother. Wylde shooting a look back over the hills towards the line of dense forest and then his gaze swung towards Morean. "Did they see any colors displayed?"

"We nae have that information yet Milord. This is just the preliminary report for they were only recently spotted." Came the reply.

"A rear attack perhaps?" Commander Rierd asked, while leaning against the table to review what had already been laid out.

"Unlikely." Herlune replied with his own gaze following those of the others now. Squinting into the mists. "They would be spreading themselves a bit thin trying to fight us on two fronts."

"Desperation doesn't always breed intelligence Milord." Jonathin muttered, with tense lines marking scared features.

"I want a report Morean. We are losing time and that is something we nae have the luxury of wasting at this juncture." In fact, this entire situation had blown up out of control so fast he was secretly surprised as the ease in which things where coming together.

"I will see to it personally Milord.? The older man bowed and then strode off, shouting orders as he moved.

Generals gathered in their masses just like witches at black masses evil minds that plot destruction sorcerers of death?s construction in the fields the bodies burning as the war machine keeps turning death and hatred to mankind poisoning their brainwashed minds

"Luke's Wall/War Pigs" - Black Sabbath

And so the drums began the slow droning beat with the movement of troops into line. Steps in perfect unison, battering down the reeds of grass into a muddy ground. Tension was thick, worn on the vary air like the banners that drifted in the cool morning breezes.

Wylde gazed outwards, that silver eye hard and flinty. To the field that vision sought and across the rolling lands that was the chosen arena of death and devastation. The tall form swung up smoothly and settled in deep to the gilded saddle. Controlling the prancing stallion that quickly picked up the mood of its rider with practiced hands.

It had been a great many years since he had faced such a fight in the Lands. Bordertown's minor street wars never had compared to the sight he was witness to now. The weak light playing upon the glistening helms easily marked in the distance. Rows upon rows of lives thrown down for the madness of others, it made him growl low. Wasteful it was, and as he believed he would win, the effort was fruitless.

A shout brought his attention around and the molten eye narrowed, looking at the scout running towards the front line, breath rasping sharply from young lungs and cheeks bright with the bite of cold.

"Milord! Tis' Lord Bedlam's troops that have come! Three thousand or more!" A brow rose sharply under the patch, the scars borne of times long past and yet damage that could never been repaired.

Sharp ears caught the murmurs of many. Surprise mingled with relief perhaps, for the numbers had been close to equal had now taken a mighty boost. Tyriol's forces brought Calvary and riders of Ancient Lore. Dragons would once more fly across the Elvin Lands in what might become a great reckoning.

Reining his mount, he spurred it towards the arriving sentinels. The representatives of Bedlam, was the direction he headed, with grass and mud flying at the pace. Little time to rethink plans, but inner senses already working with the ticking of thought. It was unlikely that Tyr was with them, for it was rumored his lady was ill, but in a sign of unity, he still had sent support. Their presence also would be a flag about what side the King of the Lands had finally stepped.

Along with Lord Kauldron, the Beldlam force would wait while their Dragon Legion took the skies. Such a sight alone would be a distraction. Even those that might remember such times in the past, the return of those old legends would shake the enemy.

Back over the battered ground he moved, the mount fleet of foot and swift, carrying him past the front line and outwards where the canopy awaited. He would give no quarter to their coming demands. He was the defender of what was his by rite of blood and family and by the Gods he fully planned on keeping it.

He arrived and dropped light footed from the back of his horse. Eye already resting upon his younger brother with a speaking gaze and with the smirk firmly in place he entered.

"Hollow laughter in marble halls Steps have been taken, a silent uproar Has unleashed the dogs of war You can't stop what has begun Signed, sealed, they deliver oblivion We all have a dark side, to say the least And dealing in death is the nature of the beast One world, it's a battleground One world, and we will smash it down."

The Dogs Of War- Pink Floyd

He could taste the blood of his enemy with every pass of the sword. The sound of thunder caught in the air, wasn't only from the building storm above but from the clashing of weapons, the blocking of shields and the heavy falling of armored bodies around him.

War. All on it's own required certain skills, tactics, logistics, manpower, and more. It required a certain grace. A sharp mind, and the knowledge that lives would be lost. Friends buried and rage fed. However, once on the field, in the thick of death, choked by the oily smoke and ducking under the rain of arrows, one lost their finesse. Here it was brutal and red with the flowing of blood under the boots. It was only by determination, battle ability and luck that one might survive within the crush of bodies and fury.

His thoughts were centered, plowing his way through the near constant wave of armor. Shouts ringing upwards into the sky and small comets screaming above, with the mage forces working their own magics on both sides.

Sword slamming home into the gut of one, forcing it's way through the armor protection with the unrelenting power of his attack, blade twisted, before ripping it free, the scream fading to an echo with the rising blood lust. The beast was clawing free and rational thought becoming clouded in that haze of hunger.

The ground shook, knocking many off their feet, but he held his, crouching low with a hand braced deep into the swirling crimson mud. A sharp turning of his head and he caught the scent. Air electric and carrying the sting of sour spells in the essence. "Mab."

Realization she was near, brought a low growl from deep within him, one worthy of Sid and he sprang to life, lunging over the ever widening rip in the earth's core. The mad Ancient, when all was said and done, was a true coward. She caught sight of him and turned and fled. Her robes fluttering with the splattering of browning vitae and into the fog she darted. Yet, there was an unearthly scream with a flash of flame nearby that last location.

He snarled with the narrowed flashing of a blazing eye. The rage nearly consuming him now and releasing the uncontrolled pyromancy from the blocks that usually confined it. Around him bodies fell heavily and some tumbled into the fissures in the land and their screams of anguish filling the ears of the living and burning into memory.

The swarming push of his forces managed to register, but the dance continued. The steps less elegant now, the act far more barbaric as no quarter was given. Here, amidst that field mercy was a lost commodity and Death controlled the waltz.

He heard the shout, registering from a distance the sound of his own name being bellowed and it yanked him out of the energy seeking to consume. Spinning with another head flying in an arc, blood coloring the sky in that brief flash and strode back, the path a meandering thing as corpse's of both side were scattered about like broken toys. Later this sight would return to haunt him, but now every thought was centered upon the job at hand.

The mud and gore covered form of his younger brother was caught, along with the still growing pile of limbs that surrounded. The Stone Beast was throwing them aside with the shattering of bone and shrieks. Blazing crimson eyes met and locked upon the Elder and he smiled in satisfaction just as his massive hands snapped the neck of an enemy and cast it aside carelessly. His own features were just as masked, his various wounds covered with the muck and blending in a macabre abstract on the once pristine armor.

They had pushed Aneldor's forces back and their remaining troops were reforming. DeAuster's men surged forward, with the rattling of small carts and soon siege plants were falling like cards down over the chasm, the sound magnified by the eerie silence and he turned, gazing outwards with searching look. Orders came barking out, the bellowing tone in stark contrast with his normally quiet tone. "Bring in the Healers to aid those still breathing! Call for the Mages to move closer!"

Victory was close, so close he could taste it, but until he held Aneldor's head in his sword scored hand, it wasn't his to claim yet. Another push was required. They had gained ground, but the foe may still have tricks yet un-played and he was only too aware that confidence was good, but overconfidence could cause death.

Another turn and he regarded the various commanders now standing in a semi-circle, having joined him as he had inspected the next phase and a cold, vicious smile touched his scarred visage. "We have nae won yet, but it be a certainly they are feeling the sting."