Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

War

It was finally time.
They all arose from their individual resting places, racing about as they went into formation and added their ranks to the Varden's, all flowing silently through a hole in the defenses built overnight, rags in armor to muffle what noises they made.

They crept across the field, hidden by shadows and creeping mists. Horror breathed into the vapors, and shapes came to life, if only briefly. Red was practically ecstatic in the expectation of a fight alongside powerful friends, eyelights burning in anticipation. Dust was more or less the same way, with Killer blinking repeatedly as his white ring eyelights faded in and out, an expression of confusion stuck on his face as Cross twirled his new blades, X flickering in and out of view behind him.

Bird's wings were fluttering as he held onto his bow nervously, sticking close to Dream as the other fiddled with his sword hilt, the yellow light of the blade itself sometimes gleaming as it peeked over the top of the sheath. His own vines were almost in the form of wings, full of the devices Islanzadí herself had gifted him, Nightmare bearing his own as he twirled a sickle in his hands.

They had all managed to cross over three-fourths of the field before sentries spotted the army and horns blared from the troops.

"Now, Eragon!" Nasuada shouted. "Tell Orrin to strike! To me, men of the Varden! Fight to win back your homes. Fight to guard your wives and children! Fight to overthrow Galbatorix! Attack and bathe your blades in the blood of our enemies! Charge!"

She set off in a gallop, the army exploding in a tremendous roar, stampeding after their leader as they ran full speed at the enemy. Seconds later as the skeletons rose above the sea of humans the thundering of hooves and feet announced the arrival of Orrin's calvary and the magnificent Kull from the east.

Then the two sides crashed violently into each other, the brazen clashing of swords, armor and shields as the battle began. The skeletons all began firing at will wherever a patch of Empire soldiers stood alone, wreaking utter devastation as they tore into the bulk of the army. Quickly, tall red spires rose up from the earth at various locations as Error summoned gargantuan bone attacks, blue strings exploding from him as they wove a complex web above the Varden's army, which spelled certain doom for any branch of the Empire that managed to fight their way deep enough that they simply shot down and threw them into the air, where they fell to their deaths.

Reaper managed to fly up above the army, coming down and smashing into the enemy as each swing of his mighty scythe, Blunda, sliced through armor and crunched shields. Any unfortunate enough to be impaled by the blade were thrown at other soldiers, knocking them down like bowling pins. His chainmail glittered coldly, black, smoky shadows wisping around his form as crows wheeled around him, pecking at the eyes of those who dared attack him from behind.

Nightmare and Dream were both at the front lines themselves, one shining almost blindingly bright as the other seemed to leach any light at all from the air, both forms hardly visible as both were individually shrouded in their own auras, flickering lights darting around them and passing through all things- the warriors of the Empire froze in place whenever one went through them, leading to the soldier dying, unable to recover in time to counter incoming attacks.

Lights and auras aside, any man who dared stand against the Twins quickly fell victim to the sword of sunlight and the vicious, claw-like sickle that tore through metal like butter, cleaving spines in two and beheading those who dared look into it's owners glowing eyelights and freeze from the sheer terror of beholding them. All others fell to the bitter onslaught of now bloody sharp branches made of a dark sap of some wicked tree made of darkness.

But to call it mercy to die by Dream's hand was.. questionable. All who looked into his face couldn't help but pause, and smile. A hot bar of what could be called distilled sunlight would then be protruding from their stomachs or leaving their intestines to coat the earth, but the poor men could only smile in joy, laughing with glee as their eyes dulled and hearts slowed, no longer caring for life after having witnessed pure ecstasy. His strange methods of killing struck fear into those surrounding him, only for that fear to wash away as his malevolent aura of heavenly bliss washed over them and made them forget their desire to fight, collapsing dead as his vines either launched their lethal projectiles or snapped their necks.
One positive of this was that it inspired the Varden behind him to charge forward, crushing through the enemy.