Upon the snowbound Path of Caradhras™, beneath a sky heavy with storm’s whisper, Boromir beheld the One Ring™. Cold and bright it swayed within his grasp, its silver chain curling like a serpent’s coil. A fire unseen burned within its depths, and though no voice was heard, a call slithered into his heart, sweet with promise and laden with power. His breath wavered; his hand trembled. For a moment, the will of a mighty man waged war against the seduction of shadow.
Beneath his tattered robes and fungal finery, Skragrott’s power seethes like a cursed elixir. His gaze turned ever skyward, yearning for the cold, unfathomable twilight of the Bad Moon that spoke to him once before. That fateful communion left him more than a prophet—it left him a king, feared and reviled by Gitz and enemies alike. Yet, the Loonking is not content. Obsession consumes him, a relentless hunger that gnaws at his very core. He will tear the realms asunder, crushing all who dare stand in his way. Nothing will stop him from hearing the Bad Moon’s dark whispers once more. Nothing.
As it is told in the ancient lore, Radagast, a wizard of curious and rustic disposition, dwelt in a house most befitting his nature. In a secluded glen in the southern reaches of Mirkwood™, where the shadows of the great trees grew long, there lay Rhosgobel, the "brown dwelling." This abode was no ordinary cottage but rather a reflection of its master: untamed, overgrown, and imbued with a strange and whimsical charm.
In the vast, roiling turmoil of the 41st Millennium, one name strikes terror into the hearts of all who hear it: Abaddon the Despoiler. A cruel visage and unyielding resolve that has shattered countless worlds, he leaves nothing but ruin in his wake. Every scar on his armour, every mark of corruption, tells a tale of countless battles and the souls he has claimed in his crusade to topple the Imperium of Man. Not merely a warrior; he is a force of nature, a harbinger of destruction, and a living symbol of the relentless chaos that seeks to consume all.
