Is this teaser for my fantasy novel any good?

The room was dark; violins sounded a brooding chorus in the rosy haze of the wax candles. The man sat behind the oaken desk, parchment and leather folders lay tered about its surface, he sat with fingers pressed against his aching head. He looked upon the plans laid out before his eyes but could not keep focus, as the musicians in the corner hastened the tempo of their ominous composition his mind swelled with thoughts of the past. Ice, snow and cold were the never waning memories of his betrayal. Tossed out into the stormy night by those of his own blood; rage coursing through his veins alongside the bitter cold. Vengeance danced constantly upon his conscious hours, teasing, taunting, tempting him to return and exact a harsh fate on those deserving. Former friends and family stared with icy expressions to match that of the tempest as he was ripped from home and hearth and exiled into the relentless gale that haunted the high mountains. No shoes to guard his feet, nor tunic or trousers to lessen the effects of the paralysing wind, a dark cloak was all he was granted and that did little in way of protection. His current headache gained intensity and hot flashes seared his vision, the isolation plagued him for weeks, months, like a foul taste in the mouth preventing any joyful sensations. This had occurred years in the past but the memories remained fresh in mind, one seldom forgets traumatic experiences the like of which drives sane minds to madness. His goal lingered in the depths of his mind but nothing could be done to achieve it. Alone and wandering amongst the snowy mountains; insanity’s grip tightened with his realization of deaths speedily approach. Something had to be done about the injustices he suffered but with no one aware of his plight it seemed as though he would die alone and unavenged. Starvation had almost reeled him in to its master; death. But it would appear his tomb lay not among the snow and stone for a single city lay at the feet of the mountainous ranges. Added to his already mounting migraine was the thunderous beat of his heart pounding in his ears, and still he allowed the musicians to sound their instruments in the gloom. He walked amongst men, pretending but never being of their kind. There in that city came to him the means to attain revenge and also a greater purpose. He travelled to lands foreign and unknown to seek out those willing to aid his cause, evermore he experienced rejection and was labelled a great many tittles even the crazed had not qualified for. His current condition grew worse, his migraine transformed into something of unexplainable agony and his heart beat as if to pierce a hole in his very chest. His long forgotten acquaintance, rage, made an unexpected return, he raised a hand high in the air and the noise vanished, the musicians dispersed and the man was once again alone. As persecution grew strong so did his resolve, he would attain these wild fantasies of his, for beneath the fabled stories of old remained a shred of fact long tainted by men whose history slowly slipped into oblivion. His quest drove him to return to the very mountains he was exiled to, but he did not trouble or let his arrival be made known to his vile enemies. For within the tallest of the stony goliaths rested the first phase of his wild plans, the smallest of objects which held a power long forgotten and kept so for good reason. The items atop his desk fluttered and swirled, the desk itself shook fiercely and grew in temperature. The second phase took place not long after the first, the construction of a mighty host was no mean task. For his ideas and imaginings were pure lunacy and no one would acknowledge his existence let alone pay heed to his ramblings. But he had yet another plan to gain the allegiance of those needed, it was indeed successful. The room boiled and fiery light sprung forth from the ds and fabrics, he paid no attention for his mind dwelled ever still on the past. All ran smoothly until the time dawned for the third phase of action, the simplest and effortless of all phases, yet the only to evade his grasp and threaten ruin on all he had created. The flames circling about and engulfing the chambers had not licked an inch of his flesh, higher and hotter they grew. A ruler he sought, not just any but that of the ancient blood, they carried power that no mortal man could dream of, but they had lost their rank in history and few remained, unaware of their heritage. His temper slipped beyond the borders of control and he stood amongst the flames and shouted to his lungs fullest capacity, a single name. Everard.