Ages past, innumerable chaos cults flourished on the
edge of civilization. For each holy spire rising to ex-
tol the virtues of goodness and law, there was an in-
fernal reflection, offering mankind material power and wealth
in exchange for cruel acts and bloody sacrifice. Humanity was
a young and foolish race, and many a prince and peon sold his
soul in exchange for power over his foeman. But as civilization
endured, uniting tribes into clans and clans into kingdoms,
slowly the light of law beat back the chaos.

Not to be outdone, the powers of chaos and evil sought out
champions of profound wickedness and cruelty, mortals pos-
sessed of the strength of will to lead the hordes of chaos against
the armies of the enemy.

These champions were the chaos lords.

The brothers Molan and Felan were two such champions. Vi-
cious and cunning beyond measure, and without a scrap of
mercy in their war-hardened hearts, they led hordes of bes-
tial humanoids to victory against the armies of good. With
the spoils of their bloody campaigns, they raised a mighty
keep and rained terror and violence down upon all in their
demesne.

In the end, the brothers’ success was their undoing. Disparate
forces of men, dwarves, and elves rallied together in a crusade
against the wicked chaos lords. For thirty-nine days, the allies
laid siege to the foul keep. And on the fortieth day, the captain
of the elves dealt Felan a mortal blow.

Realizing that his own end was drawing near, Molan retreated
into the ancient caves beneath the keep. First the chaos lord en-
tombed his brother in a hidden crypt, defended by no less than
four curses. Then, as the armies of good laid waste to the keep,
Molan gave up his mortal shell, commending his damned soul
into the writhing limbs of the gods of Chaos.

Molan made only one request. When ages had passed, and the
armies of good fell into disarray once more, he asked to return
and lay waste to his ancient foes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:11, Sun 17 Mar 2019.