Path of the Fallen [Ulthuan in Flames]

[Lírea Fellblade]

The tall elf stood motionless on the rocky crag, the twisted valleys of Nagarythe wound away before him. The sun peeking over the distant peaks of the Annulii. He regarded his home with stern grey eyes. He relished the feel of the cool mountain air on his face. His auburn hair whipped around his face. Momentarily distracting him from his vigil.

He had returned to Ulthuan from Tor Alessi after Bel-Shanaar had fallen to Malekith. Rallying his men from his homeland he had fought the uprising. He remembered his naming too. How long ago after the death of King Caledor Malekith had stripped him of his titles and lands. Thrown him in the dungeons of Anlec. He had survived there, but they had named him The Fallen, for all he had lost. Malekith had put some evil Druchii in charge of Azahul’s old lands. He had not lasted long. Slain by Shadow warriors. Malekith had never appointed another.

He did not regret his stand against Malekith. He did regret having to rouse the men who once called him lord to fight against Alith Anar. Who he once worshipped. His mouth curved up into a smirk. He thought about Alith Anar. How he would now destroy all he had first came to protect. He was now nothing more than a twisted elf. Nothing of the once noble Shadow King remained.


He walked slowly down towards the town of Tol Earseara. His one time home, the ruins of his former palace still stood above the town as a silent testimony to Malekith’s wrath. He gazed at the beautiful yet bleak land around him, appreciating it‘s beauty. As he entered the town for the first time since his imprisonment in Tor Anlec began he noticed the lack of citizen in the streets.

He remembered his times here. His battles here. He remembered the execution of his wife, Nienna, oh how beautiful she was. Malekith had ordered her death as a warning to him. He had never relented after that. Not until they had breached his walls and torn down his palace.

As he neared the plaza in the town he heard the steady buzz of a crowd. Rounding the corner he was shocked to see every elf in the town, it must have been most of the elves in the princedom. The all stood around a raised podium. On top of which stood a Druchii Highborn surrounded by Black Guard.

“You must fight!” He cried “For your homes and families. Alith Anar is not your saviour anymore.”

This was greeted by a lot of jeers. The Black Guard even had to stop some people from attacking the speaker.

Azahul pulled his grey cloak around him and pushed his way through the crowd. Slowly he made his way to the podium. There he stood in silence until the jeering had died down. Just as the Druchii was about to speak again he stepped forward.

“Silence!” He roared.

The crowd stared at him in amazement. The Druchii soldiers glared at him ready to strike at a moments notice. He let the crowd calm down.

“And who are you?” The Druchii lord asked him.

He turned and looked up into his eyes.

“I am Prince Azahul the Fallen. Lord of this land.”

There was a ripple of shock throughout the crowd. Apparently some people remembered him.

“Haha…” The Highborn laughed. “I am lord of this land elf. No other.”

“Many of you know Malekith has returned to Ulthuan. Returned from the dead.” He announced. Ignoring the Druchii lord.

“But you must now. He has returned as he once was. Malekith the Great we once called him. For he was fair to look upon. And he was not so dread as to fear.” Azahul paused to let this sink in.

“He is once again fair to look upon. And once again he is not so dread. But Alith Anar, he is no longer the elf he was. Twisted by the powers of chaos as he is. He will not stop with Malekith. He will burn Ulthuan, and destroy all he wanted to protect.”

The crowd was struck dumb now. All listening to this tall elf that radiated power.

“And once again a Phoenix king walks on Ulthuan. And he also stands against Alith Anar. Hand in hand with Malekith!” He was shouting now. Trying to rouse his people.

“We MUST fight.” If not for Malekith then for Ulthuan, for your homes!”

People were yelling now. It is funny how a speech can change people’s minds so fast.

“Spread the word!” He yelled. “All male citizens are to rally here by noon the day after tomorrow. Fully garbed for battle.”

The crowd roared again and then began to disperse.

_______________________________________________________

The news of Azahul’s return spread like wildfire around the lands. The Druchii highborn had come to Azahul after the speech.

“You did today what I could not.” He said

“Go home, tell your superiors, tell Malekith, that the men of this land will fight. But they are under my command.”

The Druchii nodded. He left the town with his guard before the sun set that evening.

____________________________________________________________


Azahul stood on the podium in the plaza. All around him stood elves garbed for war. To his right stood the Spearmen levy of the princedom, the archers’ to his left. Along the north end the cavalry waited by their mounts.

Throughout the morning people had been asking for orders, calling him Lord again. They had accepted his return utterly. Now here stood an army ready to fulfil any order he issued.

“Raise the banner.” He said to the soldier who had been assigned as the Banner Bearer.

“Yes milord” he said.

The banner was raised, a golden sunburst on a dark red field.

A hush descended on the plaza.
“Brothers and sister, warriors of Nagarythe!” he cried out. “Today we march out to war to protect our homes from the threat of chaos. And not all will return. But it is necessary.”

The assembled forces were listening intently.

“From now on we are soldiers of Ulthuan! And we will fight to defend her!”

A great cry went up from the soldiers.

“Now!” He yelled “Move out!”

He mounted the horse he had been given and took his place at the head of the column.

Within the week they would reach Tor Anlec.