As happened many times in the past the Fell Ice once again charged down from the north and attacked the world in its effort to turn it into a frozen ball of ice. Only the White Magic and it's ally the Sun could stand against such a vast enemy.
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General Darkath looked down upon the men standing at the bottom of the snow covered depression. He then looked across at the black robed men surrounded by the foul Grim Wolves. He could feel the evil in the air and the malignant presence of these men. The General had been fighting the minions of the Black Magic for over a thousand turns. In all that time never did he encounter such a malevolent force as this. His stomach turned at the sight of them. It was only by the strength of the White Magic within did he keep from turning his horse at that moment.
He was proud of his Elves as he looked down the lines on each side of him. Some made gasping noises, some even threw up their morning meal, but none turned away. All sat their horses in grim-faced determination staring down at the evil before them. The High Mage and the two Battle Mages looked upon the blackness with faces set in anger. They, out of all upon the plain, could feel the Black Magic within these men the most, except for maybe the Tundra Wolves.
To the credit of the pack leaders Howler and Savagemane not one of their wolves broke ranks and charged down the slope at the men below. Nor did any of the pack run to attack the black wolves, their mortal enemies, on the other side of the bowl. The Saddlebacks held their ground along the rim of the depression, crouched and baring long white fangs in anger. Hot steam shot out from their noses and mouths as they emitted low continuous growls. The fur stood tall along their spines as they awaited the signal to the charge.
The General looked one more time at his soldiers around him making sure all were in place. Two lines of fifty Elves sat at the ready on well trained horses to his left, one line behind the other. It was the same to his right with the Valen Guard making up the front line. His four guards and the three Mages flanked him in the middle. In front of the Elves stood the Tundras, forty-eight wolves ready to attack at a hairs notice. All awaited his command to advance on the evil before them.
Doubt clouded his mind for just a moment as he recalled the urgent warnings of the Battle Mage Glynfiel and the Tundra Wolves to return for more soldiers. The evil before him was almost overwhelming in its intensity and he feared for the Elves and the Tundras at his side, but as he thought on it he knew it was far too late to turn back. There could be only battle this day. With every fiber of his being he knew he must destroy these men who were so thoroughly drenched in the vile Black Magic. Reason took over as he looked upon his numbers and thought of the quality of his soldiers. He unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head. All eyes were on him waiting for the sword to drop giving the order to charge.
It was an order he did not have to give. Down below the fifty barbarians surrounding the men in black raised crossbows and launched a deadly volley of bolts. The sound of the flying darts could be heard as they clattered off shields, thudded into armor and flesh and made whisper noises as they pierced the snow around them. Elves went down, falling into the soft snow and horses reared on hind legs with black bolts protruding from them. Disruption happened in several places along the Elven line. The big golden stallion the Battle Mage Glynfiel was upon screamed in pain beside the General and rose up with a black quarrel in its throat. The horse went down and landed hard on top of the small Mage. The General looked but could see no sign of her as the horse died on the snow. There was no time to check to see if she lived, they had to attack the barbarians below before they could reload.
