Sorrow

Sorrow (was born Sura Ravenblades)

Sorrow was a Moon Mage of immense power who attacked Zoluren and other provinces. The resulting war was, in many respects, on the scale of the previous Gorbesh War or the subsequent Outcast War. He later died turing an ritual at the Standing Stones near Riverhaven.

Was a member of the Crystal Hand, possibly prior to the establishment of the Moon Mage guild). He had been offered a seat on the Moon Mage Council at one point, but turned it down. Also helped Dzree destroy a city during time of the Dragon Priests. Son of one of the last Emperors of the empire. Human? Lord of Mir'Kazeril, which is to the east of Sicle Grove. Knows Sithsia, but thinks that she is "quite mad". His moongates need two moons? According to Prayk, he wanted to destroy the Moon Mage tower in Zoluren.

Sorrow was not very active for a long time prior to his attempt to steal Romeode's ring that was bought at Terald's auction.

Employed many, including Parnore, Shartug, Darkensi, Prayk. Began attacks in 359 AV. Died in 363 (Dec 24, 2000) at the Stones. Afterward, Sidhlot took his books.

Visions regarding Sorrow, December 11, 1999

For a brief moment, all goes still about you. Not a breath of a breeze is felt or a chirp of a bird can be heard. After a moment's hesitation, the world around you comes back to life.

An uneasy hush falls around you as birds cease their singing and animals grow still. The world seems to hesitate, as though straining to catch some imperceptible sound. The moment is somehow urgent, but the urgency's source is unclear.

The gentle rustling of wind through tree leaves slowly dies down to complete and utter stillness, leaving the boughs in seeming anticipation.

The rushing sound of fluttering wings bursts around you as hundreds of birds take wing, as if to escape an unseen force.

An unearthly cry of sheer rage suddenly echoes across the land, reverberating and intensifying until it screeches painfully through your head. You clap your hands over your ears instinctively, but the sheer unadulterated anger of it assaults your very soul.

The world suddenly shifts, colors become muted, and motion becomes bizarrely sluggish. A strained voice echoes in your mind, "Something... is wrong... stop... before you... destroy everything."

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A beautiful grassy meadow in the full bloom of spring fills your vision. A young boy rides upon a sleek brown pony, next to an older man on a large black war-horse. Looking weary from a long trip, they both trot slowly towards a large city looming on the horizon. The man quietly says, "What do you want to do with your life? You have so much opportunity." The boy, without hesitation, replies, "I will be an emperor, father." The man chuckles softly, before noticing his son glaring at him. He says seriously, "Your opportunity might come, but beware the treachery along that path. Times are changing; the Empire is not what it once was. Now let us return to the palace, Sura." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

The air crackles with electricity that sets your skin tingling.

Your eyes water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A vision of a battered and sacked city overwhelms your senses. Smoke drifts lazily in the air, buildings have been smashed and looted, and piles of the dead are scattered upon the streets, all casting an eerie ambience upon the city. Through the carnage, a young man strides purposely down a ruined roadway, until he comes upon a company of soldiers resting on the ground. A captain brightens at the newcomer, exclaiming, "Sura! Run along and find your father. He is needed." Sura replies flatly, "He is dead. I am in command. Move your soldiers to the eastern gate, now." The captain blinks once and hesitates, then looks into Sura's war-hardened eyes for a long moment. He nods to himself and barks orders to his men, causing them to spring into motion. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

The world flickers sporadically in and out, the colors around you becoming blackness, then just as quickly transforming to brilliant unreal shades. With a final last gut-wrenching tug of reality, normalcy returns.

Your eyes water and the air before you wavers and distorts. Images of a city on the brink of disaster assail your mind, each leaving you with just a vague fragment of an imprint. The elderly slowly dying, exposed to the harsh environment of winter with no hope of finding shelter. Young emasculated children slowly starving to death. The scarce caravans upon the once busy Imperial trade route ambushed, the traders executed for their goods. Terror and thievery on the streets. Lawlessness. Plague. But soon the tide begins to change. Images of public hangings, the reconstruction of great and majestic buildings by the military, trade reestablished, and shipments of food being brought in. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the visions dissipate and you are left staring into the distance.

Your eyes water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A vision of a celebration fills your eyes, people all over a city walking about and being merry. Thousands are gathered in a square before a large palace, repeatedly chanting, "Sura!" Atop a large podium, Sura raises one hand, and the crowd is silenced. He begins to speak. "It has been seven years since the war, and still we stand, alive, despite what everyone else might have said. Mir'Kazeril is well on the road to recovery. No one will ever defeat the courage and determination so evident in our populace. Nor will we ever again depend on the Empire to defend us, for we will do it ourselves!" The crowd lets loose a spontaneous cheer, and Sura pauses before continuing. "Now that the crisis is past us, I will be leaving for a time. I travel to study with those known as the Crystal Hand, but I will return." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the visions dissipate and you are left staring into the distance.

In the distance, a faint rumbling begins. As it draws slowly nearer and builds in intensity, you first feel it in the pit of your stomach, then all around, then inside your head. At last it drifts on, leaving only a disturbing silence in its wake.

Your eyes water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A sparkling chandelier casts its light upon a large group of Moon Mages, all dressed in formal attire. Sura strides down the room, accompanied by an elder Mage on each side, before coming to stop before a red-robed Mage. The mage looks upon Sura, then says, "You have shown yourself worthy, in such a short time, to be given a seat upon the high council. Do you accept?" Sura opens his mouth, no words coming out, and a confused look upon his face. He gags once, then falls over to his side, blood trickling down his mouth. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the visions dissipate and you are left staring into the distance.

The air grows thick and sluggish, reminding you of a lake just beginning to freeze in the briskness of early winter--only the chill is somehow angry. A tendril of the cold snakes toward your heart and you feel a wrenching at your spirit, as if it were in danger of being pulled from your body. Suddenly, a reassuring warmth spreads through your limbs and you feel a second presence wrap itself around you. The malevolent force, thwarted for now, withdraws from you with a soundless snarl, leaving you exhausted but unharmed.

Your eyes water and the air before you wavers and distorts. The vision of Sura and several elder Moon Mages sitting before an aged oak table appears before you. Holding a wide sheath of papers in his hands, Sura says, "What I hold in my hands is the secret of everlasting life! With this knowledge, we can live forever, doing what needs to be done to better the world. The possibilities are endless!" The Mages sit quietly, their eyes widening slightly in horror as they read the paper, before one exclaims, "This borders on Sorcery! You cannot do this Sura!" With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

The ground below trembles and you sense that the soil itself somehow feels...somehow FEARS. A chill wind swirls about and claws at you, like a desperate beast searching for a way to flee.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. An image of elder Moon Mages blossoms in your eyes. They sit around a table; their eyes taut and hands unsteady. One mage exclaims, "It must be done. If the populace thinks we are supporting Sorcery, it could start a whole new witch-hunt against all magic. It could take us years to recover!" To his left, another Mage says, "But he isn't technically a Sorcerer. He is... something else. He could destroy us if we make an enemy of him, but we could temper his ways if he stays. He is young." The first Mage replies, "It does not matter what he is, it matters what the half-witted common people think he is." There is a long moment of silence, before the oldest of them all, at the head of the table, slowly stands up. He says, "Then it is decided. We will denounce him to the Empire as a rogue Sorcerer." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. The image of a majestic city, high in the mountains, manifests before your eyes. Tall buildings, crafted of smooth stone, rise toward the clouds and cast looming shadows upon the neat cobblestone roadways. Citizens, clad in antiquated clothing, wander the streets, going about daily routines. The vision turns and whirls sickeningly in a blur of motion, before returning to focus upon several figures on the marble steps of an immense palace. An ancient Imperial magistrate, surrounded by a company of elite soldiers, stands before a lone man leaning upon an oak staff. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. An image manifests before your eyes of a man in formal robes, droning in a monotone voice, "Sura, you are hereby ordered to submit to the will of the emperor and stand trial on the charge of sorcery." Sura pauses a moment, then laughs harshly -- a menacing sound that echoes in the air. The soldiers around the magistrate tense and poise to draw weapons. Sura sneers, "I am accused of Sorcery? You fools know nothing! Your minds cannot comprehend the scope of my abilities." His eyes narrow and he softly begins a murmured chant, as the mages quickly reinforce the ethereal shields protecting the entire company. At that moment, a deep rumbling begins. You begin to feel disoriented and it is unclear if you are watching or participating in the quake. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

All of your senses are suddenly thrown into confusion, but the distortion passes so quickly that for a moment you wonder whether it has occurred at all. You see as you did before; your nose picks out scents... All is apparently normal, until you feel your ears pop. Somehow your world of sound has shrunk to only a few feet in each direction--the slightest nearby noise roars in your head, but you hear nothing at all from any distance. The disparity is merely odd at first, then increasingly unnerving. You lurch off balance, as some part of nature folds into itself, put to rout by some unseen, ungodly menace.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. Suddenly you are assaulted with the vision of the fiery red glow of sunset glaring on a dying Imperial city. The ground is being torn asunder, great roads are veined with gaping crevices, and masses of innocent citizens tumble wildly into the jagged flaws. Small buildings collapse upon themselves, while those that grace the sky fall in surreal arcs and smash to the ground, crushing any unlucky souls caught below. The sky is full of dust and the glare of the sun makes it look as if the heavens themselves are on fire. A heart-rending, thunderously grinding *BOOM* explodes in your ears, as the city proceeds to slide down the mountainside. Boulders and giant slabs of stone tumble after it in a massive cloud of gritty dust, turning the once glorious city into a stony mass grave at the base of the mountain. As the dust begins to settle, the vision fades away.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. The tattered and dirty remains of once-fine clothing clad a group of Humans. They are lean, pale, and malnourished, but they carry on -- helping one another over the mountainous and rugged terrain. A weary young boy asks in a quiet, strained voice, "But why? Why did Lord Sura do this?" A weathered man, possessing the ambience so clear of one who leads, gives the boy a long, hard stare. He replies flatly, "Lord Sura died long ago, consumed by his ambition. Now Now he is the Lord of Sorrow." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A rush of visions flies past you at increasing velocity, too quickly to fully comprehend. Fragments of images bespeaking death, destruction, chaos, disorder, and anarchy each last a scant second, before being replaced with an even more horrifying impression. The brutal demise of the Empire. Entire cities lost in civil war. Families torn apart. Lanival. Teiro. Magic. War. Dragons. And then, in the midst of the carnage, one image burns in your mind, staying there: a kindly old S'Kra priest, leaning upon a staff. Masses of S'Kra surround him, looking upon him with awe, murmuring, "Sh'kial!" With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

A feeling of nausea assaults you, as if energy is being leeched from your body.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. The stark image of Riverhaven preparing for war overflows your mind. Tall wooden archer's towers have been strategically placed along the riverfront, and a massive stone wall is being hastily reinforced. Behind the fortifications, a vast army wearing the livery of the Baron of Therengia's house stands in formation in front of one steel-clad noble knight, currently pacing in front of a complex battle plan. His face is weary but hard, his crystal green eyes cold ice. He stops suddenly, faces the assembled army, and says loudly, "Dzree's followers have begun their march from the Crossing. We are the last resistance. We must stop them here, or all is lost." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

Flashes of unnatural light dance in the distant sky.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A contingent of Deathwatch S'Kra Dragon Priest guards surround a S'Kra women and one Human man. The woman says, "I understand you have several talents that could be of use." The Human simply stares at her, waiting. After an uncomfortable pause, the woman continues, "The Baron of Theren has had too much time to reinforce the city of Riverhaven. I can't take it without your help, Sura." Sorrow nods, leaning back against his chair, before saying. "And why should I help Dragon Priests?" Dzree replies, "Because you will be richly rewarded." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

A multitude of bright spots of light swirl and speckle your vision, building into a blinding white light before dimming and slowly blinking away, leaving nothing but solid black. Slowly then the darkness fades to shades of light grey and colors return, leaving your vision as it was before.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. Vivid red, green, and purple lightning bolts stream out of the skies, smashing into the city of Riverhaven, tearing apart buildings and sending groups of defenders flying into the air. Wooden towers burst into flames, the burning archers within leap out, screaming the whole way down before mercifully dying upon impact with the ground. Greyish-green Moon Gates pop into existence behind the fortifications, Dragon Priests streaming out and butchering the bewildered soldiers of Therengia. The vision flickers out, but not before the battle standard of the Dragon Priests is raised above the city.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. An unfinished, towering, and well-fortified black Keep looms over you. Multitudes of Dwarven slaves, hampered by the chains on their ankles, struggle to drag large obsidian blocks up the mountainous terrain. Dragon Priests, eager to ensure that they do their job well, severely beat one Dwarf who lags behind. Surrounded by guards, Dzree and Lord Sorrow oversee the whole operation. Dzree says, "I will see that the Elpalzi are given to you in the coming morning, and that will complete our deal. Are you sure you will not stay with us?" Sorrow nods his head, saying, "We are done; your ideals disgust me. I have what I need, and you will soon have what you desire, without my further help." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

The world wavers and teeters, blurring the images around you. They fade slowly in and out, their hues mixed together in water-colored fluidity before finally solidifying as your vision returns completely.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. The image of Dzree, cold, pale, and dead atop the body of a guard fills your senses. Above her carcass, two commanders argue vehemently over who is in charge of the situation. One solves the problem by swiftly pulling out his sword and killing the other. He takes one look at Dzree, smirks, and then walks away, before he is backstabbed by another S'Kra. The visage suddenly shifts to a large mountainous region. The twinkling campfires of a vast army dot the night sky. As the view zooms in, the distinct shapes of the S'lai and Elpalzi become visible. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. A fierce battle in front of Stone Clan takes place before your eyes. Tens of thousands of S'lai and Elpalzi warriors press mercilessly against the defending Dwarven and Human soldiers, pushing them slowly back to the gate. Yet this mundane battle is insignificant when compared to the gigantic magical one in the background. Sorrow stands alone before twelve elder Moon Mages, and a mysterious dark robed figure. Fierce magics are traded between the two sides, crackling and sizzling through the air, before exploding harmlessly onto their respective shields. Sorrow leans heavily upon his staff. With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.

Your eyes begin to water and the air before you wavers and distorts. Sorrow sits in the shadows of a library, alone save for one Elpalzi commander. The Elpalzi says, "We managed to retreat in an orderly fashion, without excess casualties. Shall I plan another attack?" Sorrow is quiet for a long moment before he replies, "No, the window of opportunity is past. Let the short-lived ones forget about me. Let them forget while we prepare for the eventual victory. Seal the tunnel and demolish the road." With the whisper of a gentle wind, the vision dissipates and you are left staring into the distance.