Disclaimer: Unfortunately enough the world of Osten Ard and all its characters belong to Tad Williams. I promise to give them back when I'm done playing.

Inspiration: "As the smoke and licking flames rose, the northerners routed out the last of the Sithi – those who had been too weak to or timid to flee, or who had felt too much loyalty to their immemorial home. In those fires Fingil's Rimmersmen did terrible deeds; the remaining Sithi had little strength left to resist. Their world had come to an end. The cruel murders, the heartless tortures and ravishings of unresisting victims, the laughing destruction of thousands exquisite and irreplaceable things – with all these Fingil Redhand's army put its crimson stamp on our history, and left a strain that never can be removed." Jarnauga (The Dragonbone Chair, Chapter 33 'From the Ashes of Asu'a)

Warning: This chapter contains dark topics like murder and rape. Even though I forego explicit descriptions, I increased the rating for this story. Consider yourself as being 'warned'.

Smoke swirled through the corridor like a dark toxic cloud, even absorbing the light of the brightly burning flames.

Supporting himself with the heavy battle axe on the floor, the young Rimmersmen squatted down to regain at least some of his breath. But even at this low level this damn polluted air caused his eyes to water and his lungs to constrict in a coughing fit.

This whole military campaign was a never ending nightmare but he hadn't expected less from such a demon's den. He couldn't help but shudder as he remembered the things, which he had been told about these creatures by the priest of his tribe in the last summer before he joined the army of Fingil.

"Wicked beasts are these creatures", the old man had said, his breath still containing the sour smell of the roots and leaves, which he had consumed just minutes before.

The young men of the tribe, who had gathered to receive the blessing of the gods for the upcoming war, stood in silence.

The only sound apart from the old man's chanting voice was the wind, which was rustling the leaves of the glade's trees. It also fuelled the flames of the cracking fire and by this lit the faces of the silent audience.

Grim were their faces, but also frightened. All of them had heard too many stories of these immortal beings and their doing to be ignorant to the things the priest told them now.

"They forsook their assigned place in the great tree, revolting against the gods by their appearance in the world Udun made for the mortals alone." The bones, which were attached to the old priest's knotted staff, rattled as he shook the same. "But we mortals are no fools – we do know why they came here".

At these words agreeing murmurs arose from the audience. A grin split the priest face and revealed a landscape of broken and dark teeth. "Yes, we do know it. They envied us the treasures of this world. Those treasures the gods gifted us with as exchange for our short lives. Just look at them: They rule over this land from the palladium they build from their haul. But the time has come for us to take back what is rightfully ours".

The priest smiled his almost wolfish smile as the raising war ballads rose to starlit sky.

The confidence he felt at the glade during this night was gone from the young Rimmersmen's mind now. He was among the few members of his tribe, who had survived the forced march to the enemy's palladium and the following long lasting siege.

And before they would be able to collect their bitter earned price there was still bloody work to do. 'Let no one leave alive' was their order and they would fulfil it – Fingil and his lieutenants felt no pity with those they thought being wimpy or treacherous.

At the beginning the task at hand was a hard thing for him to do due reasons beyond swordsmanship. He had thought it a shame that they had to kill the females too. Those enchanting creatures, whose slim bodies he and another few fellow soldiers had tasted with so much delight. But now he knew better for he had learned the treachery of these vixens firsthand.

Since he and his comrade had been separated from their original raiding patrol, they had relished the lack of supervision and had acted to their very hearts desire.

Before long they had come up against a lonely fairy woman, who certainly had searched the castle for a safe hideout. Never being men, who let opportunities go by, they had taken her for themselves. A beautiful one she had been, slender but vigorous. And all the sounds she had made beneath his comrade! All these tearful cries and pained moans made him eagerly await his turn.

Being filled with anticipation he might have paid more attention to the shape of his companion than to the entrance he was supposed to keep a watch on. He still couldn't comprehend how, but suddenly this rage spitting male had attacked them out of nowhere.

Maybe he had been the mate of their catch or maybe her brother. Whatever bound the two immortals had shared didn't matter anymore for both sithi had lain lifeless in their own blood on the battleground's floor in the end. But so did his comrade. From that point he had been on his own in this demon's den.

Replaying his most recent past his mind again, the young soldier made a disgusted sound. This Sitha man must have been crazy – to die for just a single woman. What an unworthy death for a man!

Again the smoke made him cough. All this musing was worthless right now, he decided. It took him nowhere and this corridor wasn't exactly a good place to stay at. If he wanted to survive he had to regroup with his patrol before another of these creatures emerged out of nowhere.

Blinded by smoke as soon he left his crouching position, the Rimmersman used his free hand to support himself on the wall before him. Just in the second he was about to turn around, a blow from behind struck him at his back.

The sheer force of the impact made his body dashing into the wall before him. The iron battle axe, fallen from his other hand, clattered as it hit the floor. There was pain; he knew there was. But it felt as far and numb as the rest of his body did.

Slowly he lowered his glance to his chest. There it was. The tip of the sword, which had punctured his cuirass, was black as the smoke which whirled around him. In some way it looked almost unreal, for all the blood, which was flowing freely from his wound now, didn't left a damn single drop on that blasted thing. It was dark, cold and creepy. Just like the creatures, who had brought this weapon into existence.

He took, what was left of his strength, and turned his head and shoulders around as far as he could, while being pinned against a wall. However, it was enough to get sight of his assailant.

For a moment he thought that the crazy male, who had killed his comrade, had returned. But no, it was another. The hair of this one was as black as coal, not orange like the sunset. His face was darkened with smears of dried blood and carbon black. In contrast to thus shadowed head, which he held up so proudly, he wore a suit of armour, which almost gleamed in the smoke filled darkness of the corridor with its different shades of yellow and gold.

"…like…like a …crow…sitting on a giant… sunflower…" was the only coherent thought left in the mind of the mortal soldier before his world began to darken.

The last thing the young Rimmersman saw, before he was engulfed by the eternal night was the bright gaze of his slayer; brimming over with anger and horror and all the other emotions his alien face wouldn't show.

TBC

Since this story is meant to illuminate the tragic scenes during the fall of Asu'a from the perspective of both included parties, I decided to split it in two parts. The second part will be written from the Sithi's point of view.

As said before: English isn't my native language, so I ask you to be indulgent to me concerning spelling and grammatical errors.

Please RR