Somehow – perhaps as a testament to his power – Mog-Mog returned from the grave. The thing had drained the witch-doctor’s power, swallowing it thirstily, but some small amount had remained. Whether this was intended or accidental is not known, but Mog-Mog refused to look the proverbial equivar in the mouth.
It took years beyond counting for Mog-Mog to recover, which he did in secret. What remained of his tribe tended to him, offering their own pitiful souls to his endless psychic buffet.
Eventually, his power returned, but ever did he fear the return of the black foe that had bested him and brought his reign to ruin.
In an act of desperation, Mog-Mog crafted a new mask to replace the one his enemy had cracked. He placed all of his fear, his ambition, and his power into this new mask, creating an artifact that would outlast him should the unthinkable come to pass. He would live on in this indestructible phylactery, which he intended would act as an eternal foil to his nameless enemy…