Khorgar Xorlarrin

"Some may see my path as wicked and dishonorable I see it as the only way forward The only way this world will survive is for it to be remade and if I am to be viewed as a Lord of Dread than so be it."

Backstory: The Abyss-Stained Flame

Khorgar was born of blood and fire—his mother, Velirae Xorlarrin hailed from House Xorlarrin, a noble house in Sschindylryn delved into forbidden studies of the Abyss aiming to harness its chaotic energies. Her experiments and unauthorized pacts with Abyssal entities were discovered, leading to her exile from House Xorlarrin to preserve the house's reputation and standing Banished to the desolate Black Ash Plains, Velirae encountered a Minotaur chieftain possessed by an abyssal demon a echo of Baphomet barely clinging to sentience.

The land itself whispered to Khorgar as a child. It sang of chaos, of chains shattered, of gods trembling at the birth of something older than the apathetic and weak divinity.

Where others saw the Abyss as corruption, Khorgar saw truth the raw, untamed nature of existence. The primordials of chaos, ancient lost to time, began speaking to him through the blood-soaked soil and the storm-laced winds. He doesn't worship them, not truly he hears them. He embodies their will: entropy, liberation, and rebirth through destruction.

Raised among scavengers and zealots in the shattered outposts of the Black Ash Plains, Khorhar forged his path not through law or honor, but through strength, clarity, and raw will. He is no champion of darkness or light. He is the storm between them—the herald of a world that must first be broken to be made whole.

The Inheritance of the Abyssal Scourge

When Khorgar came of age, Velirae summoned him into the depths of her sanctum, a chamber lit only by the sickly orange glow of a hellforged furnace. Upon an obsidian altar lay the greataxe: Abyssal Scourge, its edge aflame, its haft coiled with abyssal runes.

Velirae’s voice was cold, cutting. “This is your birthright. I forged it from the remnants of your sire what little was left of him after the Abyss devoured him. Do not mistake this for a gift. It is a weapon. It is a test. If you are strong enough to master it, you prove you are worthy of my blood… and his.”

When Khorgar reached for the axe, the weapon resisted him. Its tendrils lashed into his palm, drawing blood, searing his flesh. The pain was sharp, deliberate — not just recognition, but punishment for hesitation, for weakness. The runes flared brighter, the weapon growling like a chained beast as it clawed into his will.

Velirae did not interfere. She only watched. “If you cannot master it, you do not deserve it. And if you do not deserve it, you do not deserve me.”

Khorgar held on. The flames licked his arm, the whispers clawed at his mind, but he did not let go. Slowly, the weapon stilled. Its tendrils rooted into him, and the bond was sealed. For the first time, it accepted him.

Velirae’s lips curled into the faintest shadow of a smile cruel, proud, satisfied. “Good. Then you are more than the carrion that spawned you. Remember, boy: the Scourge is no ally. It will tempt you, test you, wound you if you falter. But if you bend it to your will… the world itself will break before you.”

From that day, the Abyssal Scourge became Khorgar’s companion and torment, a symbol of drow cruelty and abyssal inheritance. It whispered hunger, demanded strength, punished doubt but it was his.

From Dragon’s Blood to Ashen Roads

Khorgar’s story as it reaches the party begins with the slaying of Vrondiss, the blue dragon.

In that brutal clash, he proved his strength not just to himself, but to forces unseen. Vrondiss’ dying words spoke of a Suzerain who had taken interest in Khorgar, marking him as a piece on a board larger than he could yet see.

In the days that followed, letters arrived, signed only as The Mirage. They whispered of apocalypse: the return of the Elder Elemental of Fire , a ruinous flame that had once burned the great forests to ash, leaving behind the wasteland that shaped Khorgar’s childhood. This Phoenix-born fire would rise again in **Istria**, to scour the world clean.

Khorgar’s mother, Velirae Xorlarrin, lent her counsel. Exiled drow sorceress and Abyssal scholar or to others a mad witch, she saw in these prophecies an opportunity not to stop the fire, but to shepherd it back into the world. She instructed Khorgar to join those adventurers drawn by destiny to confront the Phoenix, to guide them into its heart… and to betray them when the time came. For chaos was his birthright, and immolation the Abyss’ gift.

But Khorgar was not so simple a pawn. As he set out across the Black Ash Plains, whispers of the primordial Abyss grew louder, filling his nights with voices of entropy and rebirth. He began to see a third path: the Phoenix’s power need not be loosed blindly, nor smothered by weaklings—it could be seized, bound, and bent. Not destruction alone, but reshaping. Not servitude to the Abyss, but ascension through it.

On the long road south, a red comet streaked the night sky, heat rolling from it even in the spring air. To Khorgar, it was no omen of doom, but a challenge a invitation to prove himself worthy of the fire to come.

By the time he reached Riverest, where the ghost spider and the other adventurers were first gathering, Khorgar’s path was set.