In Update 1.24, ‘Sorrowblade’ Glaive Tier II wields Vainglory’s most popular weapon! Watch for him in the in-game market.
CHECK OUT HIS 3D MODEL:
- All-new black fur look
- Feel the power of the mighty Sorrowblade, inspired by the in-game item!
ALTERNATE FATE LORE
The Chosen Hunter
One autumn, Glaive went ice fish hunting (for there is no word in the Grangor tongue like “fishing;” the Grangor use the word “hunt” for anything that is acquired through skill or cunning). He drilled a hole in the ice at the center of the great lake, impaled a wiggling ground-dwelling invertebrate onto the hook of his twine-dangling fish hunting weapon and hunkered down into his fish hunting stance, which was a comfortable sitting position. After some time his head nodded with the impending vision quest, which is how Glaive would explain later that he had fallen asleep, and that is when he heard a deep, booming voice.
Greetings, Grangor. Tell me your sorrows.
Glaive startled out of his dream and looked over his left and then his right shoulder. No one was about. He peered into his drilled fish hunting hole. “What is a sorrows?”
Sorrow is the feeling of emptiness that follows a great loss, replied the voice in a cold, bubbly way from under the surface.
“Can’t say I’ve ever felt that,” said Glaive.
Sorrow is felt when a loved one dies.
“All living things die, then are reunited in the Nether realm,” replied Glaive. “Why should I feel emptiness for that?”
It is the feeling of prey escaping.
Glaive scoffed. “Prey that runs from me dies with my blade in its spine.”
Have you never been rejected by a female?
“That too, could never happen,” said Glaive, and brushed a bit of lint off of his shoulder.
Congratulations, said the voice, and the thick and meaty arm of a water troll burst through the ice, a great axe in its fist. You have been chosen to carry the great named axe, Sorrowblade, that was thrown into this icy deepness long ago to protect mankind. Only you, great hunter, will not fall to its terrors.
Glaive took the weapon in his hands and tested its weight, marveled at the dynamic harmony of head and helve. The axe handle glowed red with a foreign force. “I’ve never seen its like. What manner of power is this?”
It is called technology, said the voice. It is the harnessing of the power of fire, lightning, magic, the sun, even the Churn.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?”
It makes the fish sad, said the voice, farther away now. Now go, and tell those machine-makers to stop dumping their stuff here.
CANON GLAIVE LORE: