Upon the Plain of Bone High Marshall Lotarion of the Elves confronts the greatest threat the world

has seen in a thousand years the deathless legion of Mhorgoth the Necromancer. As Mhorgoth attempts to enact a blasphemous ritual, an outnumbered and exhausted Elven army prepares to make a stand. Far more than mere lives are at stake, for Mhorgoths magic threatens to damn the souls of their ancestors.
owards the end of the season of tears, a great foreboding came over the seers of the Twilight Glades. As time passed, this feeling grew, until even the lowest born Elf could read the omens present in the world. But, try as they might, the seers could not descry what dread event portended. It was said the Mage Queen Laraentha travelled the most dangerous paths to the very deepest parts of the glades to seek communion with the goddess herself, only to nd her way barred by dead and rotting trees.
There is but a single creature capable of such a magical feat: Mhorgoth the Necromancer. Through his actions he had revealed himself. But why he had done such a thing, the Elves did not know. Perhaps it was simply malice, some argued, or a show of power that their erstwhile student could reach out and strike at them in their very holiest place. Other seers feared the truth to be worse. Only when Prince Malatheer of the Southern Kindreds, castellan of the border

Plain Bone
The of
citadel of Aloss, arrived at the glades warning of a horde of undead marching on Borath Lei was Mhorgoths plan revealed. Once the greatest city of the southern Elven kingdoms, Borath Lei was a remote, unvisited ruin, destroyed in the long-ago wars that ended the Age of Ice. Elves are not a wholly canny people. Magic can linger about their dwellings for generations after their departure. Some power still clung to the place, and though the kingdom about it was choked under desert sands, the ruins were an oasis of sorts, an island of lush grassland in the wastes consuming the south. The seers became fearful. Borath Lei was sacred, the battle-grave of thousands of Elves slain in the conict that had cast the city down. A thousand years after the changing of the world, the white bones of Men and Elves still lay gleaming all about Borath Leis walls, tangled together where they had fallen in deadly combat, their esh gone to sustain the tall grasses growing through sightless eyes and cracked breastplates.

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 The seers became fearful. Borath Lei was sacred, the battlegrave of thousands of Elves, slain in the conflict that had cast the city down.
Mhorgoth could only mean to dele the city, using his unnatural magics to raise the army from its slumber, tearing the souls of the dead from the afterlife. Already the guard of Aloss had been despatched under the command of Malatheers twin sister, Malatheen, a powerful mage. Lotarion, High Marshall of all the Elves gave order that the army of the northern kindreds be roused. Such was the scale of the threat that the ordinarily argumentative princelings of the kindreds responded without question. Within hours, Elves were on the march. Borath Lei lay weeks travel away, and Lotarion resolved to go on ahead. He The Plain of Bone

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commanded the seers to open the Glade of Ways so that he and a select band might journey upon the perilous Dark Path. The mages begged him not to risk his life in this manner, but Lotarion was adamant that the glade gates be opened. Many strange things the king and his guard saw on their journey through the spirit lands, but that is a story for another time. The Elves successfully passed through that otherworldy realm, though not without loss, emerging at Borath Lei the day before Mhorgoth arrived, at a place known to the Elves as The Plain of Bone. The morning dawned bright, the desert sun rising red and baleful in the east. Against its glowering surface a dark streak could be discerned, the column of dust above Mhorgoths army. The cloud grew larger

and larger, visible hours before the tramp of dead feet reached the exhausted Elves ears. When the full extent of the horde arrayed before them became apparent, the legendary resolve of the Elves almost failed. The small force waited in front of the fallen gates of Borath Lei, praying to the goddess that the forces of Aloss would reach them in time. Hard after noon, the dead marched onto the eld. Rank upon rank of ragged skeletons pulled from ancient tombs and sand-drowned kingdoms by the vile sorcery of the once-man Mhorgoth. Silently they arrayed themselves on The Plain of Bone before the fallen gatehouse of Borath Lei. The undead are eerie in their utter quietude. No cries precede their charge, their battered instruments are voiceless. Only the click of bone and rattle of rusting arms and armour emanated from their

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number as they took up station and waited a bowshots distance from the brave Elves of the north.

The skeletons ranks parted, cackling filled the air, and a rabble of slathering ghouls poured across the plain.
Shortly after, coloured lights and terrifying noises came from far behind the van of the undead. Mhorgoth was attacking the spirit guardians of Borath Lei, bringing them the nal death one after another. Surmising that Mhorgoth would soon be done with the guardians and free to raise a fresh army from the fallen of Borath Lei, Lotarion determined to attack without waiting for the Elves of Aloss. Marching

forward, the two score Elven scouts accompanying the High Marshall began to loose arrows into the skeleton warriors. The song of bowstring and hiss of arrows in the air was joined by awful shrieks as skeletons were brought down, their magical eld disrupted, the tortured souls within cast out into the utterdark where they would be lost forever. The scouts wept as they red, knowing they were condemning innocent souls to damnation. Hundreds fell, until suddenly the skeletons ranks parted, insane cackling lled the air and a rabble of slathering ghouls poured across the plain. This rst wave of Mhorgoths army hit the Elven line in the late afternoon. Lotarion, surrounded by his Palace Guard, resolved to sell his life dearly... The Plain of Bone

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o me! To me! The battle had become desperate, and Eldrins cries went unheeded. His regiment was in disarray. The Elven shieldwall crumpled under the weight of hundreds of skeletons pressing against it, forcing it to give ground. On and on the undead came, blades swinging in unison, mindlessly trampling over their fellows where their advance was slowed by the ght. The air hummed with the sorcery holding them together, bringing with it a foul, metallic taste. The engagement degenerated into a series of individual combats, embattled Elves each holding off several opponents. They abandoned their line, adopting stances appropriate for single combat, each warrior as effective on their own as they were in formation. Eldrin ducked and wove, dodging the clumsy swings of the undead. Each movement brought another of the foe down. His spear hummed as Eldrin swung it through the air, its spirit counterbalancing the strikes he made with the bladed edge of his shield. Splintered bone ew wherever he went, baleres winking out in hollow eye sockets, souls departing magical bondage with ear-splitting shrieks. Eldrin would have laughed with battlejoy were his situation not so desperate. He saw Tudalaran borne down by a dozen of the enemy, yellowed teeth snapping at his neck and face. Lotheriar screamed as a rusted sword point found its way past his defences. Mantion was clawed to the

ground and torn apart by slow, eshless ngers, Ersimones beautiful throat was torn out by the talons of ghouls. The skeletons were silent as the grave as they fought, and although the clatter of sundered bones, gasps of effort, the rasp of dull blades on armour lled the air, the battle was weirdly quiet. The cackle of ghouls, the cries of escaping souls and the screams of the dying were sudden and shocking in this hush as one by one Eldrins kin were slain. He wept tears of rage as he fought.

Elves, raised from this holy place. They were fighting Elvish dead, ripped from the afterlife to kill their own sons and daughters.
The skeletons began to change, the rotted livery of a long-forgotten human realm replaced with ne enchanted armour, unsullied by the earths long embrace. Elves, raised from this holy place. They were ghting Elvish dead, ripped from the afterlife to kill their own sons and daughters. The horror of it caused Eldrin to stumble. It nearly cost him his life. The ghastly skull of an undead Elf loomed close to his face as it chopped down with ancient blade. Eldrin stepped back just in time, his spear moving with a will of its own to turn aside the blow. Forgive me, my ancestor, Eldrin said, and his spearpoint sent the skeletons damned soul screaming to the utterdark. The Plain of Bone

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Borath Lei
Heroes of
Revenants

When a Necromancer raises an army from a battleeld, the bound souls dimly remember how they were in life, and rejoin the regiments they formed during their mortal existences. The mightiest warriors band together as they did in ages

gone, to form elite units of formidable, heavily armoured soldiers. At the Plain of Bone, these Revenants created a ring of iron and bronze about Mhorgoth as he worked his dread ritual, and proved near impossible to break.

Mhorgoth the Faceless

Mhorgoth the Faceless is the very embodiment of evil, his insane desire to create a kingdom of the dead a threat to all. He keeps his bitterest hatreds for Elvenkind, blaming them for making him as he is. At Borath Lei he intended to raise a legion of undead Elves, and with them by his side southern Elvenholme would surely have fallen. Only the desperate assault of Tydarion the Dragon Lord stopped the ritual. A bitter victory with a terrible price, that of the life and soul of the mage Malatheen.

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Palace Guards

Elven warriors train for centuries before they are deemed worthy of joining the Palace Guard, and they number amongst the greatest of the worlds warriors. There are never more than a few hundred, and most remain in the connes of the Twilight

Glades and the palaces of the city around them, eternally vigilant for attack. A handful accompanied Lotarion to Borath Lei, where they proved instrumental both on the magical way of the Dark Path and in the ensuing battle.

High Marshall Lotarion

The Elves are a divided people, each kindred keeping to its own counsel, the High King and Mage Queen deferred to only in ritual, if at all. Yet their princes still pay heed to the High Marshall when outside dangers threaten all. Lotarian was a mercurial character as apt to spend time in deep melancholy poring over ancient poetry as he was in joyous pursuits. Now he is locked in torment, his soul drunk by a Revenants blade as the two forces of Elves fought their way together and drove the Undead from the eld.

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Clouds
War in the
Lord Malak of Dol Eragos
What pact Malak swore with Mhorgoth is unknown, for the two have little common cause, but the fell shadow of Malaks Hellsteed was cast on the eld of battle that day at Borath Lei, swooping low onto the embattled Lotarion and claiming the lives of many Guard. Malak attacked Tydarion as the Dragon Lord desperately assaulted Mhorgoths Revenants and stopped the ritual. With the Dragon Lord occupied, Mhorgoth was able to turn his full malice upon the mage Malatheen, dragging her soul from her body in revenge. Shouting a song of sorrow, Tydarion rose to joust Malak in the air. Legend has it Malak has never been bested, yet Tydarion pressed him hard, his sword Foefang cleaving the Vampires little nger from his left hand. Enraged, Malak prepared to destroy the Elf, his blade blurring with unnatural speed. Tydarion desperately parried the vampires furious assault, but would shortly have been undone had Ulazaerd not rent Malaks Hellstead in twain. Bellowing oaths of vengeance, the Vampire plummeted to the ground.

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Tydarion Dragonlord

When Tydarion heard of the Undead advance upon the Plain of Bone before Borath Lei, he immediately went to the dragons roost above his palace high in the Altanor Mountains, calling for his servants to bring his sword and armour as he went. Mounting the swiftest dragon of the peaks, the noble Ulazaerd, he sped south as fast as the wind. Tydarions arrival shortly after battle was joined did much to bolster the spirits of Lotarions Elves. With Ulazaerd and Tydarion to aid them, the Elves of the

North were able to hold out until the Elves of Aloss gained the eld and began to thin the number of the foe with their war engines. It was Tydarion and Ulazaerd who broke the Revenant line protecting Mhorgoth, they who aided Malatheen in disrupting the dark mages ritual. Only Malaks assault on the noble prince allowed Mhorgoth to escape. Their ght was inconclusive, and a great enmity was born at The Plain of Bone, for Malak has sworn he will not rest until he has drained Tydarion of blood. The Plain of Bone

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