Ballad of Sorrow

  

As the creator weaves patterns in our existence, epochs come and pass, sometimes leaving bitter memories that become legends, then washes away into myth, which are forgotten when that epoch passes away for another to set in. In one epoch already long lost but yet to come, an epoch dominated by darkness, pestilence and bitter memories long past without its beginnings nor endings, an epoch where Man things, Elves, Dwarfs, Sea Mermaids and other beings alike co-existed together, an epoch that beget the legend of "The Harbinger of Sorrow".

There was a bard…

His eyes sparked like the stars as he fondly caressed the strings of his shiny harp. He told stories of valor, of battles won by the ancient greats, the pacts made and broken during the great bonding. He told of the battles fought against the dark lord, he spoke of the battles fought by elves and dwarfs during the lost epoch. He had the King, his Queen, Lords, Ladies, The Chief Commander of the Revulian army, Esquires and the dignitaries of the other Lesser Royal family, in fact all who mattered in the great Nation enraptured as he wove his fables like never being woven before.

These tales they've had heard countless of times, but it was his voice that they craved for. Make no mistake; he isn't a bard for any royal family. No! He was so much more, yet much less, for he was once one of them, but they do not remember. It was a long time ago he'd left them on his quest to find his heart desire. They listened to his story with dexterity and they desperately held on to the sound of his voice like it was the substance to their existence. 

He wove the ancient tales of the peaceful and musical sea mermaid. He spoke of the heroics of the short tempered dwarfs in the mountains of Dhzuiogh. He spoke of the reclusive Elf folks of Hulphimeng that nobody ever saw because, long ago they'd withdrawn from man thing’s existence and others alike, because the dark lord's influence's had began to grow too virile. As he wove his intrinsic tale, he reflected on the perilous voyage that had led him to this glorious day. The day where they all shall know his worth and finally recognize him for who he had finally become.

He looked down at those in attendance and easily picked out his family. The King, who was rapt in attention yet still managed to look regal. The Queen, who's face forever looked untouched by the passage of time because of the power she wields. A power that some fear and say is a curse, while others respect and call a gift. On the other side were his younger brother, the heritor prince, and finally, his three sisters. His brothers and sisters were all grown up and looked the prince and princess in mannerism, carriage and dressing. With a sigh of regret he hoped that just maybe he will get the chance to tell them who he was before he leaves, this time forever.

He was known by another name now. A name given to him by the dark lord on the day he knelt down before his presence, drank from the Elixir of immortality and proclaimed himself to him. When the dark lord placed his vile yet superior manus on him to be marked forever his, red hot fire seared through his marrow and acerbic coursed through his veins. The pain had been so unbearable that he'd crashed to the floor in defeat. Every pulse gushed new flame through him, and it was then he accepted with finality that his soul was tainted and forever lost. His heart pounded like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest and at that moment, he was convinced he was dying. 

 But before all that, he'd been known as Mohdeth Neillhammr', son of King Brailliv Neillhammr', heritor prince to the throne of Revulia, the last unified nation of man things. The nation of Revulia was a fortress; its walls have stood the test of time and have never been conquered, even when their walls were surrounded by a great horde during the Great War that lasted nine seasons, the Revulian walls prevailed. Mohdeth had always wanted to be a bard despite his very wealthy and royal background, but his father forbade it. When Mohdeth held fast to his dream, he was given a choice; forget his stupid dream and continue his studies or forfeit his birthright. As it was common with the young of age, who followed their hearts instead of their head, he took the obvious choice and left his birth home. He left his home of comfort and luxury for a nomadic and bardic existence.

The details of his years on the road were trivial, but this much could be said of Mohdeth; he soon realized he didn't have what it took to be a bard. He was booed and stoned out of all the taverns he tried to perform his art. Then one day, in one of these taverns, he met an old man who told him that to be a bard took passion, a long time on the road traveling and a talent for singing and weaving tales. His advice was this; Mohdeth should travel the world and listen to their folklore's, visit the Sea mermaid, for they would teach him the art of euphony and then travel to the mountains of Dhzuiogh to forge a harp because the dwarves were the best at crafting and forging. Only then would he have a chance at being a bard

So Mohdeth made up his mind to travel the world despite the fact that those were very dark and perilous times. Travelling was hard because the raids along the villages by the monstrous Dhyzarks, who did the dark lord's bidding, had become too frequent. But unfortunately his travel ended before it even began because the village was sacked that night and he was taken prisoner by the Dhyzarks. They were captured solely to be used to work the mines of Shoath madar.

During the trek back to the mines, some of the prisoners ended up in the Dhyzarks cooking pot, for they were mindless monsters that ate anything that was flesh, even theirs. In Shoath madar he worked the mines for six seasons and a quarter before he offered his soul to the dark lord for him to do as he pleased. In exchange, he received the gift of the true bard's heart, the sweetest singing voice, a harp of magical proportions and a chance to go back home one last time to perform in the King's court.

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 He was steered back to the present when he realized that he had gotten to the end of his tale. So he picked up his harp, felt its tainted powers course through him and goose bumps erupted all over his body. He pulled its strings and began a ballad of dark notes and a feeling of tranquility befell everyone in attendance. The notes were so captivating and melodious that it wove an intricate web of enchantment around their souls. They listened, smiling and had this peaceful look, like they were under the influence of a drug.

They listened amazed and transfixed. They were held captives by the scintillating melody. Their eyes widened and shone in ecstasy like they had been all been given a dose of the potent Kelindrii portion. Mohdeth on the other hand was so far gone as he played his first and last euphony from the harp wrought out of Shoath madar by the dark lord himself. He couldn't stop the riveting and rippling tones he created even if he wanted to, that much he knew. So he closed his eyes and drowned in the euphony as he pulled the strings of the harp with so much flourish, like his life depended on it. Further they all fell, deeper and deeper into a miasma of galled pleasance

Time stood as Mordeth's orphic voice rung out and drowned everybody in attendance. Mohdeth Neillhammr' as he was birth named, had that look of satisfaction and pride, while the others in attendance had that serene look of peacefulness and tranquility. Quite suddenly, Mohdeth noticed they were not alone, for the dark lord danced gleefully in their midst. He danced to the sound of the velvety notes coming from the bard's harp and to the music of triumph outside the palace walls.

The dark lord's eyes blazed balefire as he scrutinized everyone and it was a mighty wonder they weren't burnt to cinder where they all sat. All it had taken for him to penetrate their walls was the sound of euphony. After all the great many seasons of fighting and defeat, all it took was simple euphony. They all sat there lost to the enchantments of the harp as hordes of Dhyzarks laid carnage to their impenetrable Nation. It was to be an annihilation and there was nobody to lead the army because everyone and anyone who had the power were within the palace walls trapped in their souls by the one thing that was supposed to be the vitellus for the soul.

The moment Mohdeth Neillhammr' had made his pact, the evil machinery was set in motion. For the dark Lord will give with his right hand and collect with his left. Little wonder he was told to discard his birth name and adopt the name "Levirocusu Advamutis" which in the antediluvian tongue meant "The Harbinger of Sorrow".

For he has brought sorrow to Man thing through euphony