The Testament of Chaos

The storm raged, armies shattered, banners burned, the cries of the dying drowned by the laughter of Chaos.

And then — silence.

The Father of Chaos staggered. His armies faltered, his voice weakened, his form cracked beneath the weight of endless war. Each taunt cost him more, each hymn faded into echo. He reached out as though to clutch the storm itself, but the storm slipped away, leaving only a shell.

The hunger had been sated. The lust for confusion, for mayhem, for kingdoms broken, was filled. The fire that burned too hot now guttered. And at last, the mighty Father of Chaos collapsed into the dust.

You cheered. You roared. You believed the Father was dead.

But hear this, lords and ladies of Thardferr — hear it now:

You only slew the Father. You never slew the god.
You fought only a shadow. A reflection. A vessel.

The host was Trupheus of Cult Leader, the prophet who whispered into the abyss until the abyss whispered back, who built his cult into a mirror so vast that Chaos itself gazed into it and took hold. He was possessed. He was unmade. He was remade. He became the Father of Chaos, the storm’s laughter given flesh.

And now the vessel is broken.

Yet beyond your sight, in the endless void, the true God of Chaos still waits. Purple eyes glimmer like distant suns as He sits before the mirror. In its surface shimmers your world — Thardferr — fragile, burning, proud. He waits with patience, for He knows that one day, another fool will stare too long into that glass. Another voice will be seized. Another vessel will be remade.

Chaos cannot be killed. Chaos waits. Chaos watches. Chaos laughs in the silence between the storm and the strike.

So remember this as the Age turns:
You did not defeat Chaos.
You only broke its vessel.
And Chaos will rise again.

Padre-Del-Caos