Like all sitheri, S'Sarren-kull was born into violence. The Grimmere swamp knows no gentle births, no peaceful childhoods. From his first moments, he fought for survival in the murky waters and tangled roots of Death's Head Swamp, where the weak become food and only the cunning live to see their second season.
His natal brood belonged to one of the ten major sitheri tribes—the Scaled Throne, they called themselves, a tribe distinguished by the deep crimson and brown patterns that marked their warriors' scales. His brood mother, Iss'thara, ruled her territory with absolute authority, as all brood mothers do, commanding loyalty through a combination of spiritual mysticism and brutal enforcement. Young S'Sarren learned early that power in sitheri society flows from two sources: physical might and spiritual insight. He possessed both.
Unlike his clutch-mates who dreamed only of the Hundred Scalps ritual and the warrior's path, S'Sarren showed an unusual fascination with the spirits that the tribe's shamans claimed to speak with. While other young males practiced with spears and learned the art of the ambush, he watched the shamans perform their rituals, memorizing their words, studying their methods. The shamans noticed. One in particular—an ancient male named Thresh'kul who had survived the Hundred Scalps and returned to spiritual service—took interest in the young sitheri's keen observations.
"You see more than others," Thresh'kul told him during one of their early conversations. "Your eyes look past the present moment. This is rare. This is dangerous."
Dangerous indeed. The visions began when S'Sarren reached adolescence, at the age when most young sitheri males prepare for their Hundred Scalps journey. He would fall into trances, seeing images of events that had not yet occurred—a raiding party ambushed at a river crossing that had not yet been planned, a brood mother's assassination before any plot had been hatched, his own reflection standing atop a mound of skulls while warriors from multiple tribes bowed before him. The visions came unbidden at first, overwhelming his senses, leaving him dazed and vulnerable.
Thresh'kul recognized the gift immediately. "The spirits speak through you," the old shaman declared. "They show you the many paths the future might take. You are touched by fate itself."
But gifts among the sitheri always come with complications. When S'Sarren shared a vision of his own brood mother's death—poison administered by her most trusted lieutenant—Iss'thara faced a choice. She could kill the young prophet to prevent any possibility of his words becoming self-fulfilling, or she could trust his sight and act on his warning. The brood mother chose pragmatism. She had the lieutenant killed, and when her spies discovered the poison hidden exactly where S'Sarren said it would be, his reputation was sealed.
The brood mother kept him close after that, using his visions to navigate the treacherous politics of inter-tribal warfare and to plan successful raids against surface-dwelling settlements. S'Sarren's predictions proved accurate far more often than not, though he learned quickly that the future was not fixed. The visions showed possibilities, not certainties. Sometimes multiple futures would present themselves, branching paths that depended on choices not yet made. This understanding set him apart from simple fortune-tellers and tribal prophets. S'Sarren did not merely see the future—he learned to read it, interpret it, and eventually, manipulate it.
His Hundred Scalps ritual, when it finally came, was unlike any other. Most young sitheri warriors leave their tribes for months or years, wandering the borderlands and attacking isolated travelers, gradually accumulating their required kills. S'Sarren completed his ritual in a single, coordinated campaign. Using his visions to predict troop movements, supply routes, and vulnerable targets, he orchestrated a series of raids against human settlements with such precision that he collected his hundred scalps in barely three months. More remarkably, he survived encounters that should have killed him, always seeming to know when to strike and when to fade back into the swamp.
When he returned to his tribe, his shoulder sash weighted with proof of his kills, S'Sarren had changed. The visions had grown stronger during his time in the surface world. He had seen things that troubled him—glimpses of a future where the sitheri remained fractured, endlessly fighting amongst themselves while the warm-blooded races above grew stronger, developed new weapons, built flying machines that could bypass the swamp's natural defenses. He had seen sitheri tribes crushed by human armies, their territories burned, their broods exterminated. But he had also seen another path, one where the tribes united under singular purpose, where serpentine warriors moved as one coordinated force rather than scattered war bands.
"The future holds two paths for our people," he told Thresh'kul upon his return. "In one, we continue as we are—ten tribes eternally at war, growing weaker as the surface dwellers grow stronger. In the other, we become something the warm-bloods have never faced: a unified force with singular purpose."
"The tribes will never unite," Thresh'kul said, though his tone suggested less certainty than his words. "It goes against our nature. Even the greatest warriors cannot command the loyalty of multiple brood mothers."
"Warriors, no," S'Sarren agreed. "But a magi might. One who offers not just conquest, but destiny."
It was then that S'Sarren began his true education in the mystical arts. Thresh'kul taught him everything the old shaman knew—how to commune with the spirits of the swamp, how to channel the natural energies that flowed through the Grimmere, how to read signs in the movement of water and the behavior of animals. But S'Sarren's curiosity extended beyond traditional sitheri magic. He sought out forbidden knowledge, venturing into the ruins of Il'kell where the ancient empyreans had once practiced their arts. In those vine-choked laboratories and crumbling temples, he discovered texts and artifacts that spoke of necromancy—the manipulation of death itself.
Necromancy. The word sent ripples of fear through even hardened sitheri warriors. It was magic that defied the natural order, that twisted the boundary between life and death. The ancient texts spoke of necromancers who could raise armies of the dead, who could trap souls and bind them to eternal service, who could transform entire lands into realms of undeath where the living became the minority. Such powers had been used once before, millennia ago, to create the Dead Lands—a cursed region where the undead still walked and no living thing could thrive.
S'Sarren studied these texts with obsessive intensity. He learned the theoretical foundations of necromantic magic, understanding how it inverted the natural flow of life energy, how it drew power from suffering and death. He discovered references to powerful artifacts—a grimoire containing the spells of the ancient necromancers Ill Sigith and Jux Jeorn, a scepter capable of channeling the life force of countless souls, monoliths that could broadcast necromantic energy across vast distances. These artifacts had supposedly been destroyed or lost after the fall of the Dead Lands, but S'Sarren's visions suggested otherwise.
The true breakthrough came when he uncovered a partially intact empyrean artifact in the deepest levels of Il'kell—a staff carved from darkwood and inlaid with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe when viewed directly. The moment S'Sarren touched the staff, his visions exploded in clarity and power. He saw not just possible futures but the intricate web of cause and effect that connected them. He saw how small actions in the present could cascade into massive changes years hence. And most importantly, he saw his own path forward with crystalline clarity.
The staff was a necromantic focus, a tool designed to channel death magic with devastating efficiency. With it, S'Sarren's natural prophetic abilities merged with necromantic power, creating something unprecedented—a sitheri magi who could see the future and possessed the magical might to shape it according to his will.
Armed with his staff and his visions, S'Sarren began the delicate work of unifying the sitheri tribes. He started with his own tribe, the Scaled Throne, using his prophetic abilities to ensure their raids were overwhelmingly successful. Under his guidance, they defeated rival tribes, claimed resource-rich territories, and grew powerful enough to attract the attention of other broods. But S'Sarren did not conquer through force alone—he also used diplomacy, sharing his visions of a future where unified tribes could dominate the entire Grimmere and launch coordinated strikes against the surface world.
"I have seen it," he would tell the brood mothers who came to him, some seeking alliance, others sent by their tribes to assess this unusual magi. "I have seen serpentine warriors marching as one, no longer wasting their strength fighting each other but turning their blades against the warm-bloods who encroach ever deeper into our sacred lands. I have seen sitheri tribes controlling not just the swamp but the territories beyond it. But this future only comes if we set aside old feuds and embrace a larger destiny."
Not all brood mothers were convinced. Some rejected his overtures outright, viewing any attempt at unification as a threat to their absolute authority. These tribes S'Sarren dealt with through more direct methods, using his visions to orchestrate their downfall—arranging for their warriors to walk into ambushes, for their raids to fail spectacularly, for internal dissent to fracture their leadership. When a weakened tribe finally crumbled, S'Sarren would be there to offer the survivors a choice: join his growing coalition or face extinction.
Slowly, painfully, the unification progressed. What had begun as a single tribe grew to three, then five, then seven. Each addition brought new challenges as brood mothers jockeyed for position and warriors from different tribes struggled to work together despite generations of mutual hatred. S'Sarren maintained control through a combination of prophetic insight, necromantic power, and carefully calculated shows of force. When necessary, he would demonstrate his staff's terrible capabilities, channeling violet death magic that could strike down entire war parties or wither living flesh with a touch.
"I am not asking you to follow me out of love," he told his coalition. "I ask you to follow because I have seen victory, and I know the path to reach it."
His reputation grew beyond the Grimmere. Intelligence reports reached human settlements warning of a sitheri magi who had achieved the impossible—uniting traditionally fractious tribes under his banner. Some dismissed these reports as exaggeration or rumor, unable to believe that sitheri could coordinate on such a scale. Others, more perceptive, recognized the threat S'Sarren represented and began preparing defenses against what they feared might become organized sitheri aggression on an unprecedented scale.
But defense against surface attacks was never S'Sarren's primary concern. His visions had shown him something far more ambitious, far more terrible. He had seen a future where the Dead Lands were not a historical anomaly but could be recreated, where an entire region could be transformed into a realm of undeath under his control. He had seen himself commanding not just sitheri warriors but armies of the undead, unstoppable legions that felt no fear, required no food, and could march without rest until all opposition crumbled before them.
To achieve this vision, S'Sarren knew he needed more than his staff. He needed the artifacts of the ancient necromancers—the grimoire, the scepter, perhaps even a way to recreate or salvage the monoliths that had once broadcast necromantic energy across the original Dead Lands. His visions showed him fragments of where these artifacts might be found, glimpses of the people who would become entangled in his design, hints of how events would unfold.
He began laying groundwork years in advance, positioning his pieces carefully. He established contacts with surface dwellers who could serve his purposes, identified key individuals whose actions would prove crucial to his plans, and marked potential allies and obstacles. Among these was a savant named Erlek Abn Nee—a brilliant but amoral researcher who had experimented with alchemical transformation and forbidden magics. S'Sarren saw how Erlek's work might be turned to necromantic purposes, how the savant's creations and research could serve the magi's ultimate goal.
Through intermediaries and careful manipulation, S'Sarren influenced events in the surface world, always working toward his grand design. He harvested the silver lotus flowers that grew in Il'kell's ruins, recognizing their alchemical properties as essential components for certain necromantic transformations. He studied the ruins themselves, learning what he could of empyrean magic and how it might complement his necromantic arts. He sent scouts to monitor human settlements, particularly Brighton—a thriving port city that his visions had marked as central to his plans.
Brighton. The visions always returned to Brighton. S'Sarren had seen it transformed, its living population converted to undead thralls, the city becoming the heart of a new Dead Lands that would spread outward like a plague, consuming everything in its path. He had seen himself standing at its center, commanding legions of the risen dead while the warm-blooded races fled in terror or fell to join his armies. This was the destiny his visions promised, the future he worked tirelessly to bring about.
But the visions also showed him obstacles, complications, individuals who could disrupt his carefully laid plans if not properly accounted for. There was a young woman—a sorceress named Serena—whose magical potential exceeded even her own understanding. S'Sarren had seen her wielding powers that could challenge his necromantic abilities, had witnessed futures where she stood against him and, disturbingly, where she succeeded in thwarting his design. She would need to be dealt with carefully, either converted to his cause or eliminated before she could reach her full potential.
There was also a scholar, an alchemist with the potential to create weapons that could disrupt necromantic magic. And an eslar mercenary whose interference seemed to complicate multiple futures. And a young woman named Bella whose knowledge of rare botanical specimens made her essential to certain alchemical processes S'Sarren's plans required.
The magi spent years tracking these individuals, waiting for the moment when they would all converge at the right place and time. His visions showed him that moment approaching, a critical juncture where multiple paths would intersect and the future would crystallize into one of two possibilities: his victory and the creation of a new realm of undeath, or his defeat and the collapse of everything he had worked to achieve.
What troubled S'Sarren—though he would never admit it openly—was that the visions had become less certain as events drew closer to their culmination. New variables kept appearing, individuals and events he had not foreseen. A mercenary captain named Madilyn Oakthorn emerged in his visions only at the last moment, a warrior whose presence seemed to exist outside the normal flow of fate. This anomaly disturbed S'Sarren's confidence, suggesting that perhaps the future was not as fixed as he had believed.
Still, he proceeds with his plans. By the current year of 539, S'Sarren-kull has achieved what no sitheri leader has managed in recorded history—he commands not just his original tribe but a coalition that he grandly titles the "Twenty Tribes," though the actual number of fully integrated tribes remains closer to seven or eight, with others operating as reluctant vassals or temporary allies. His influence extends throughout the Grimmere and into the borderlands beyond. His warriors patrol the swamp in organized units rather than scattered war bands. His network of spies and informants extends into human settlements, providing intelligence that feeds into his prophetic understanding of unfolding events.
From his seat of power deep within the Grimmere—a fortified compound built among the ruins of Il'kell—S'Sarren-kull orchestrates his grand design. He corresponds with agents on the surface world, issuing carefully worded instructions that will position them for their roles in his plan. He studies his visions obsessively, searching for any detail that might give him an edge, any warning of potential complications. He practices his necromantic arts, pushing the boundaries of what his staff can accomplish, preparing for the moment when he will need to channel more death magic than any single being has wielded since the ancient necromancers created the original Dead Lands.
His warriors know him as the Snake Lord, the Great Magi who sees all and knows the path to victory. They have witnessed his power, seen his prophecies come true, watched him strike down enemies with violet death magic channeled through his darkwood staff. They fear him, respect him, and follow him not out of love but because he represents something unprecedented in sitheri culture—a leader with a vision that extends beyond tribal boundaries, a magi who promises not just survival but dominance.
To the handful of surface dwellers who have encountered him and lived to report their experiences, S'Sarren-kull is a nightmare given form—a serpentine prophet who speaks of futures filled with death and undeath, who commands warriors with disturbing discipline, who wields necromantic powers that should not exist outside of ancient history. Intelligence reports describe him as the greatest threat to emerge from the Grimmere in generations, perhaps in centuries.
But S'Sarren himself sees things differently. He does not view himself as a villain or a threat but as a visionary, one who has glimpsed the true potential of his people and works to make that potential reality. The sitheri have always been apex predators, perfectly adapted to their swamp environment but limited by their inability to organize beyond tribal structures. He is changing that, forging them into something more, something capable of challenging the warm-blooded races that have long dismissed the serpentine folk as mere monsters lurking in the swamp.
The necromancy is simply a tool, he would argue if anyone cared to listen. The ancient necromancers used death magic for selfish immortality and petty tyranny. S'Sarren intends to use it for a greater purpose—to elevate his people, to secure their future, to create a realm where sitheri no longer hide in swamps but command territories that the surface dwellers must respect and fear.
That this realm would be populated primarily by the undead, that it would require the death and transformation of countless living beings, that it would represent an existential threat to every warm-blooded race in the region—these are acceptable costs in S'Sarren's calculation. He has seen the alternative futures where the sitheri remain divided and weak, where human technological advancement eventually gives them weapons that can drain swamps and eliminate serpentine populations, where his people face slow extinction. Better, he believes, to act decisively now, to seize control of the future before it seizes them.
His darkwood staff taps against the stone of Il'kell's ruins as he walks through his compound, reviewing plans, consulting visions, issuing orders to subordinates who scramble to fulfill his commands. His yellow-slitted eyes scan the horizon, seeing not just the physical landscape but the possibilities that shimmer in the air around him—futures branching and converging, paths leading to triumph or disaster, moments of critical choice approaching like gathering storms.
Everything is proceeding according to his design, or close enough. There are complications, yes—unexpected variables, individuals who operate outside his foresight, events that unfold differently than his visions suggested. But S'Sarren has learned flexibility over the years. The future is not absolutely fixed, but neither is it completely mutable. With sufficient power, sufficient will, sufficient understanding of the patterns that govern fate, even a future that seems uncertain can be bent toward desired outcomes.
His black tongue darts out, tasting the humid swamp air. It carries information—the scent of approaching rain, the movement of animals through distant vegetation, the faint traces of sorcery from his subordinate shamans performing their rituals. But beneath it all, S'Sarren tastes something else: opportunity. The pieces are moving into position. The critical moment approaches. Soon, very soon, the future will crystallize into reality, and when it does, S'Sarren-kull intends to ensure it is the future he has seen in his visions—the one where serpentine lords command armies of the undead and the warm-blooded races tremble at the mention of the Snake Lord of the Twenty Tribes.
He is patient. He is calculating. He is powerful. And he has seen victory written in the threads of fate itself. Now he merely needs to make that vision real, to overcome the final obstacles, to execute the culmination of years of careful planning. The Great Magi of the Grimmere stands ready to reshape the world according to his prophetic understanding, to prove that the future belongs to those who can see it coming and possess the will to make it so.
The darkwood staff taps against stone once more. S'Sarren-kull returns to his studies, to his preparations, to the endless work of orchestrating destiny itself. The endgame approaches, and he will be ready.
FIRST APPEARANCE
S'Sarren-kull first appears in The Alchemist's Forge (The Alchemancer Book Four).
