The Fall of Sarthailor
By TimmyMWD

Talian’s eyes scanned over the rows of names displayed before him. His finger traced down the list, vainly searching for just one of the several individuals he hoped had found refuge in this place. He shifted to the right, and began studying the next list of names that had been attached to the stone wall. He recognized almost all of the names on the list, but his frustration grew as none of the elves he had hoped to find were on the list. “The burden is now on me,” he sighed.

From behind him, Talian heard a gruff cough. As he turned to face the dwarf, his splendid ithilmar scale armor reflected the torch light back throughout the tunnel. Nodding his head in respect, Talian greeted the dwarf, “Is there something I can do for you dawi?”

The dwarf was also well-armored and armed for combat, encased in ornate gromril armor and a mighty two handed hammer strapped to his back. “Captain Talian, you are the highest ranking elf we could find out of those seeking refuge from Avalaer. Your presence is therefore requested by Thane Faelric.”

Talian nodded and walked away from the refugee lists with his dwarf escort. In the past few days that he has lived among the dwarfs he grew used to them calling him an elf, even though the last member of his family that could truly be called Asur was his grandfather. He chuckled slightly at the dawi’s inability to distinguish between a true elf and a half blood, and then realized it was the first time he had even remotely smiled since the fall of Avalaer.

The half elf and dwarf entered a massive stone chamber, brilliantly lit by massive torches scattered throughout the room. Dawi, half elves, and humans filled the chamber with a roar of conversation as they plotted over maps and charts. Talian’s dwarf escort leaned over to a guard and whispered in his ear. A moment later, the guard slammed the shaft of his weapon onto the floor several times, and the conversations slowly ceased.

“At the request of Thane Faelric, Captain Talian is to command the Sarthailor forces in the hold. He is the highest ranking elf remaining from the legions surrounding Avalaer.”

The dwarfs in the room nodded in approval, while the humans and half elves bowed slightly to greet their new commander. Talian stood in the entrance for a moment, stunned as the gravity of the situation rushed over him. He had commanded no more than one hundred elves and men, and now he was tasked with commanding the remaining soldiers of the legions he had fought in. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he walked forward to the tables where the various planners and soldiers stood.

“What is the current status of our forces?” he asked.

One of the human advisors looked up at him as he gestured to various points on the map, “The last of the retreating forces from Avalaer are currently arriving through the western gate. We have about eight thousand of our soldiers that we recovered from the city fighting. The dwarf numbers are much higher obviously, as we’re currently receiving Karak Norn. But most of those are only here temporarily, as many are being dispatched to aid the humans to the east in retaking some of their lost positions. Several engineering guilds will be remaining here in Karak Harn to –“

Talian raised his open hand to stop the human, “What forces are we allocating to the retaking of Avalaer? Surely the few thousand of Sarthailor are not sufficient for the effort. We require the aid of the dawi in this endeavor.”

A robed dwarf walked up to Talian and gasped his mail-clad arm. “Elgi, I appreciate your determination to retake your home. There’s not a dwarf in this room who would not share your feelings if this hold were to fall, but we are not returning to Avalaer.”

Anger and despair boiled within Talian’s stomach. Looking around the room, he realized that none of the elves or men shared his frustrated expression. He starred at his countrymen with disdain, “I expect dawi to defend their home and not risk their lives for others –“

Several dwarfs stepped closer to Talian, and many of them had their hands on the shafts of their weapons. The dwarf that had escorted the half elf interrupted the captain, “Watch your words elgi, or have you forgotten your surroundings?”

Before Talian could reply to the threat, another dwarf spoke, “Algnir Oakenshield bite your tongue. The whole of his land is lost, now is not the time to set grudges.”

“It is NOT lost,” the half elf yelled. “The capital can be retaken! Surely, Alith Anar no longer commands the assault personally.” Indeed, everyone in the room bitterly remembered when the successful endeavor in Avalaer rapidly reversed as Alith Anar himself entered the capital and led the Forces of Ruin.

One of the dwarfs unfurled a new map, detailing the passes connecting the former Sarthailor capital and the hold they were now living in. He grabbed several wooden pieces displaying icons representing the ruinous powers and placed them in two of the passes connecting the settlements. “Alith Anar has shifted a lot of his forces to Avalaer and the surrounding region. They are now moving rapidly to our position, which is why retaking your city is not an option.”

“It is our guess, Captain, that they want another route to assault Reikdorf from. The humans in the east have heavily fortified their position in the city, but would be hard pressed if a second front was opened up.”

Talian eyed the map and looked up at the other individuals in the room, “I will organize the soldiers of Sarthailor present in the hold. We will help your soldiers secure the Sempron gate from assault. I ask you do but one thing.”

One of the dwarfs looked up at home curiously, “What do you ask of us Captain?”
The half elf donned his tall helm as he replied, “When the defense of this hold is finished, allow us to travel through the remnants of my land. Last I heard, there were two cities yet holding out, and if they are all that remains of my homeland, my fate lies there.”


Alyeth Elileth was a broken elf. His robes were caked with mud and his blood as well as that of many others. The other prisoners in their procession looked to be in similar shape, bruised and broken not just in the physical sense. What was once a point of pride – his pure blood - was now the reason why he had been captured by these druchii. He and his fellow riders had been traveling with haste to a rumored mustering of Sarthailorian forces, hoping to aid the army in fighting the druchii, when a massive cavalry force attacked them. He would have gladly given his life in that fight, but he was dragged down to the ground and captured. Elileth had watched in horror as all but a handful of his comrades were executed. It took him only a few moments to realize that only true Asur were spared death.

The chilling voice echoed through his mind was he walked with his arms chained. “You will be brought back to Ulthuan as trophies of our war. They will see you broken, tortured; mutilated. They will all see that you disgusting creatures are nothing like the so called ‘true elves’ you claim yourselves to be.”

Ulthuan. He had longed to see the homeland of his people for his entire lifetime, and now he deepest desire had been turned into his greatest nightmare.

As the line of prisoners and sentries marched into the outskirts of Tor Andruin, Elileth could make out the brazen runes of Malekith that filled the dark banners that were now hanging from the ruined towers of the once great port. Defiant to the last, Elileth looked up at the nearest guard and laughed. “You still cling to the memory of a dead fool I see.”
The Asur felt the comment was worth it, even after he felt the chained gauntlet of a druchii strike his already scarred back.

Looking around as they continued to march, he could see the corpses of humans and elves alike scattered throughout the buildings and streets of the city. The druchii must not plan on staying here long, Elileth thought, or they would have a greater fear for the diseases these corpses could bring. The dead grew more and more numerous as they neared the waters, and it became clear that the forces of Sarthailor had fought a staggered withdrawl to the shores of the ocean, only to meet another force of druchii that had arrived by sea.

After another half hour of walking, they had reached one of the sprawling dock facilities of the city. There were half a dozen ships waiting for them, and they were far more elegant and graceful in appearance than any of the ships constructed in Sarthailor. Although he had never seen a starwood tree, he knew instantly that they were constructed out of the magical giant from Ulthuan. He felt the weight of despair grow even larger as he realized it was on these majestic vessels that he would be transported to Ulthuan to face his fate at the hands of the twisted druchii.

As he stepped onto the wooden planks of the docks, one of the druchii that escorted him and his fellow asur spoke. “We bring the last of the so called ‘asur’ that we could find; Noble. You are charged with transporting them to Ulthuan at the request of the Lady Morathi.”

One of the druchii from the ships stepped forward. From underneath his hood, he scanned the two dozen prisoners closely, and then looked up at the druchii who had just delivered his instructions. He removed his hood as he spoke, “They will indeed return to Ulthuan in due time.”

Elileth looked at the elf in stunned silence. He recognized instantly that he was not druchii. His eyes bore no malice, but he was indeed a pure elf; although no one that Elileth knew from his travels of Sarthailor.

The druchii escorts now drew their weapons and began shouting in confusion. “Who are you?” one of them demanded. The others now began to slowly move towards the elf in question.

The reply was not in the form of words, but in a volley of arrows that flew in from behind several locations. Most of the druchii crumpled to the ground, but a small handful survived the volley and began running in the opposite direction of the ships. The mysterious elf turned to his armored comrades behind him and spoke quickly, “Leave no survivors. Track them down.”

Those elves then removed their hoods, revealing that they too were not druchii, but again were pure blood elves. Their armor was a splendid sight, flowing white and blue cloth intermixed with expertly crafted scale armor. They matched the fine suits of armor that had come over to Sarthailor in the days of Bel-Shannar. As they sprinted past Elileth and the other prisoners to chase down the druchii, Elileth recognized none of them. What was only a moment ago a joyous turn of events was now a concerning one. To not identify one high elf is one thing, but for a Prince of Sarthailor to not recognize two-dozen high elves is a completely different matter. The conclusion became very clear as an elf helped him to his feet and unchained his arms: these elves were not of Sarthailor.

The elf that had removed his hood beaconed to the now freed prisoners, “Friends, you must get on the ships. My comrades who are pursuing will join us later. Your safety is paramount and supercedes all other concerns. Please, to the Eagleship.” He gestured to one of the ships currently docked, which was now bustling with crew that was busy preparing to cast off.

Prince Elileth was not so willing to comply, “You may be an enemy of the druchii, but that does not make you an ally of the Asur. Just who are you?”

Smiling slightly, the mysterious elf nodded before replying, “I am not an ally of the Asur, good prince. I am an Asur, as are my brethren. We have come to take you and the remaining true Asur from this corpse of a kingdom, and bring you home with us.”

Stammering, the Prince of Sarthailor inquired, “Home? As in Ulthuan?”

“In due time we will be able to call Ulthuan home again, but for now I take you to another place, a place the druchii do not even know exists. The one place in the world where the gods still smile upon us. They have not abandoned us entirely, Prince.” The elf took off his robe, revealing a beautiful set of ithilmar scale armor, mixed with the blues and greens of the Sea Guard. Resting on the chest of the elf was a brightly glowing blue rune bearing the name Asuryan.

Elileth reached out and grasped the rune, and instantly felt warmth rush over him. The feeling was difficult for the elf to comprehend. It was if he was standing on the top of a tall hill and could see his long lost home in the distance. The warmth that filled him was a feeling of anticipation and joy, but it was not a complete feeling. His home was not yet reached. For the first time in his life, Elileth felt the slightest presence of Asuryan, and it filled him with an indefinable amount of purpose.

The elf pulled the rune back to his chest and stepped back, his hand now gesturing to the various ships. He looked at the former prisoners and asked them all, “Children of Caledor, are you ready to sail with me?”

Though they gave no verbal acknowledgment, they all boarded the various ships. And so it came to pass on that night, with no one to witness, the last of the pureblood elves – the true Asur – departed Sarthailor forever.