Description
Only the sharp sheen of keen duergar eyes reveals the
presence of a stout form lurking nearby. His body is
concealed beneath a worn traveler's cloak that has taken
on the easily overlooked no-color of the road. Wrappings
of the same dark design conceal his nose and mouth, and
aside from those calculating eyes, only his fingertips
are visible as they protrude from fingerless gloves he
wears. However, there are tale-tell signs that this is
not just a typical underdark denizen who wants to keep
out of the sun - his fingertips seem to be slightly
singed and upon the flat of his gloves you note the
vague presence of soot-blackened iron spikes. The last
detail you take is not what you see, but rather what you
smell - a cocktail of noxious chemicals, black powder,
and duergar stench.
Role
Journal - Cryptic Plans
Added Wed Feb 11 01:33:59 2009 at level 44:
(A thick, battered, leather-bound journal with reinforced,
bronze-plated corners has become a staple of Mughol's daily
life. Though he can carry out some tasks with frightening
rigidity and long-suffering patience, such as devising
traps and scribing upon these pages, his naturally chaotic
nature manifests itself nonetheless; none of the entries
are dated, and the pages contain a jumble of data about
geography and specific people who he has apparently stalked.
A dizzying array of mathematical calculations often snake
right over previous entries, as if done on pure impulse.
Unfortunately, the variables expressed within them are not
explained anywhere, and like make sense only to his crazed
mind. Your eyes set upon a brief, curious passage that has
been left in the middle of a blank page - the start contrast
alone is enough to signify its apparent importance...)
------------------------------------------------------------
Plans be made. It'll be small...mayhaps the size of an alley
cat, or a gnome ridin a pot-belly pig, or a baby with a
fat forehead, or a...(this goes on for quite a while).
And it'll be copper - that be important for the shockin magic
which it be drawin power from. Them gnomes say it be the way
to go and they ain't been wrong yet. Got the banshee trapped
in the gem...that'll do the right amount o' screamin.
REMINDER: Send them plans n' parts to (as if to keep things
purposely obscure, no name is written, but what looks to be
a paw has been drawn). If anyone can make it sing, it'll be
her.
The Stranger, Part III
Added Tue Feb 3 13:19:20 2009 at level 42:
"It ain't 'bout gold, it's about bein' happy, chief. And guess
what? I'm bein' downright giddy now..."
The "ambassador" woke to these words, though as far as he could
tell Mughol was nowhere to be seen. In two heaps on the other
side of the room were Thurgen and Jarn - the idiots...some kind
of help they had turned out to be. He'd make sure they were
killed once they got out of this mess.
They both began to stir, as the sleeping gas had run its course.
As the mind-numbing anesthesia wore off, their dread returned
to where it left off, and in short order they were all thrashing
frantically to get out of this door-less, circular chamber. The
walls were of tightly-masoned bricks - watertight in fact. It
wasn't long before the smart one realized they must have been
inside an old cistern.
From all around, it seemed, the duergar spoke, "The best trap
be one that gives ya a chance to escape - that way, if yeh fail
to get out yeh can only blame yerself. So here's what I'ma do,
fellas: last man standin' gets to go home."
For about twenty minutes the thieves resisted. But, a crook
knows when his number is up, and the duergar had them at his
mercy. Jarn went down first - chopped hard in the throat by
the "ambassador." He had planned to talk them both down and
strike when they had finally let their guard down. Well, it
worked the first time, but Thurgen reacted much quicker than
he had anticipated, and he was a real brute. It didn't take
long.
"Looks like we got ourselves a champ'! Yeh can go, chief."
With that, a hidden panel in the side of the cistern slid
open. Hesitantly, Thurgen went through it and saw that he
was now just outside Mughol's door once again. He took a
look back into the cistern and was mortified to see a mass
of writhing, slick, black spiders seething out of the drain
hole, heading his direction.
"This is where yeh start runnin'."
And run he did. All of his fear-heightened senses noticed
the things he had missed on the way in - dozens of traps
lining the tunnel. Adrenalin kept him going after the third
and fourth arrows caught him, and even after he stepped in
a bear trap. It was the boiling oil that really did the
trick, though. As Thurgen spasmed in agony, alive and cooking
in some kind of cheap vegetable oil, the spiders caught up.
Amidst the screams, no one hear Mughol sniffling as he said,
"Tha's beautiful."
The Stranger, Part II
Added Mon Feb 2 00:25:14 2009 at level 42:
The cadre of thieves set out on the last job of their lives,
making for the north-western side of Galadon's underworld.
In the murky blackness, lit only by the weak magic of some
silver rings they had pilfered from the local guards, they
missed all of the signs. Subtle things that most people
would miss - a missing brick in the wall, a curiously-placed
piece of wooden bracing (ringing any bells?), and an unusual
number of small potholes in the pitted, wet stone floor. And,
the most obvious sign, written above Mughol's door...
"If ye came this far yer shit outta luck,
'cause there ain't nothin can save ye,
nae a copper, nae a silver, nae even a golden duck!"
They found that the door was open, and so they entered. Sitting
in a lavish chair carved with the sinuous shapes of nude human
women, was Mughol. He was waiting for them, smoking his pipe.
"Have a seat, fellas."
"We're not here for small-talk. I think you know that. We've
come to receive our due, for this is our territory, and you
are late on the rent."
The duergar exhaled an exhaustingly lengthy plume of smoke
which had apparently been in his lungs since they had opened
the door, and said, "I'm a starvin' artist, gents. Afraid I
ain't got more'n a few coppa's to me name. Ain't made it big
yet."
The two enforcers instinctively moved forward, flanking Mughol's
desk. Meanwhile, our ambassador of swine let a slow grin creep
onto his face. Secretly, he had hoped for this. He wanted to
fuck this duergar up. Why? Well, he hated just about everyone,
but non-humans especially. As his heart leapt silently in joy, he
finally decided to sit down across from Mughol, so he could
look him in his filthy low-born eyes when it went down. He didn't
notice the slight, bright smirk on the duergar's face as he sat.
"Is that a fact? Tragic. I guess we'll have to evict you and exact
payment, such as we can, from your wares. Thurgen. Jarn. Check
those crates over there..."
Before another word was spoken, Mughol made a sudden backwards
lunge, rolling into a tiny hole that was perfectly placed behind
him. At that instant the room began to fill with thick green smoke.
The two thugs ran towards the spot where Mughol had vanished, but
found only a solid wall. All three of them exchanged fearful
glances and, in unison, made for the door. At that moment a heavy
slab of metal slammed down like a guillotine, sealing the exit
and their doom with a resounding boom. The green smoke, vaguely
floral in odor, was getting to them. In a matter of moments they
were out...
The Stranger, Part I
Added Tue Jan 27 12:01:48 2009 at level 34:
Beneath the ancient flagstones of Galadon, hidden amongst
the bandits and fiends in the dark, a relatively new
resident has taken up shop. The duergar never says much,
but the thugs leave him alone because he always lines their
pockets with a bit of silver and gold. However, that alone
might simply spur a brigand to demand more, which they
never did. It probably has something to do with the fact
that this particular duergar "isn't all there," as they
say. It's not that he's a fool; on the contrary, he seems
razor sharp, though he hides it behind hideous duergar
slang that could make a devil blush. It was the unnerving
way in which he would look at a person, and even the way
he'd skulk through the darkness. He had eyes of madness
and murder, and he roamed around as though he owned the
place. To top it off, he always had strange, fiendishly
designed devices on him and smelled of harsh chemicals.
But, what was this clan-less stranger doing there? They
knew next to nothing about him, and he seemed both capable
and dangerous. And then there was the ceaseless sound of
tinkering, chiseling, and the occasional explosion over
in his territory...
That question was asked one too many times, and so finally
a vote amongst the thieves was taken and it was decided
that they would send a couple of investigators to find
out. What that means, really, is that they sent two big,
mean knuckle-busters and an underboss to get answers from
him, and to
What happened next has become a local legend - a horror
story among the guildless bandits who dwell beneath
Galadon...
Meet the Mudbutts, Part II
Added Mon Jan 19 18:36:23 2009 at level 16:
"Ya ain't muddy, pa. I'm the real Mudbutt and so far as
I can see, there ain't room fer both of us! I'm takin'
this clan overside, ya hear!?" With that, he tugged on
a tiny rope that was hidden nearby. It was tied to an
inconspicuous piece of bracing that, under normal
circumstances, would not be critical to supporting the
the tunnel's structure. However, Mughol was actually
an incredibly gifted engineer, and what his father had
never realized was that he didn't ignore his mining
lessons out of spite...he ignored them out of boredom,
for he had surpassed his ingenuity long ago. So, Marcul
really had no idea that every bit of bracing had been
hinged upon this expertly crafted "flaw," and was
crushed under untold tons of stone. Unfortunately,
the rest of the Mudbutt clan was eavesdropping just
around the nearest bend in the tunnel, for they had
heard the commotion, and they all met an equally
untimely end.
Not to be put-off by something as trivial as the utter
annihilation of his clan, Mughol set out for the surface.
He has always been fascinated by the mysteries of other
cultures, and has nothing but the most sincere and heart-
felt desire to mine every secret he can, and apply them,
if he can, to his greedy ambitions.
Meet the Mudbutts, Part I
Added Mon Jan 19 18:31:16 2009 at level 16:
Some people find themselves when they meet the love of
their life. Others do when they leave home. But a few
are shaped by tragedy and torment; twisted and molded
as if by the devil's calloused hand.
Mughol doesn't fit into any of those categories, though
it would be safe to say that HE was that fiendish,
calloused hand to many unfortunate individuals. In fact,
he has always been an artist, of sorts. The problem is
not the quality of his work, it's just that so few can
can see the beauty of his craft.
One example that our surly, somewhat crazed duergar friend
likes to recall is the time when his art resulted in the
demise of his worst critic: Marcul Mudbutt - AKA "Old
Sludgehammer," "Dirty Dirkdiddler," "Black Ass," and who
can forget the ever-esteemed "Skid Marc." Before I run
this coal-wagon completely off its tracks, I'd just like
to say that Mr. Mudbutt Sr's rather unfortunate multitude
of monikers are in no way meant to be indicative of any
manner of odious funk. Though topsiders tend to apply a
different meaning to the surname, I assure you that in
duergar society "Mudbutt" is akin to "Armstrong" in that
it is indicative of stout character, gumption, and HhhHh
h-HHh-HHhutzpah! This is a culture of dirty thieves,
after all.
Now then, where were we...
Ah yes, murder! You see, Mughol was always a bit too
"tinkerish" in the eyes of ol' Black Ass. Where a duergar
should be more about sticking a dagger in the gut of a
gnome after said gnome had completed crafting some kind
of ingenious (and undoubtedly pricey) device, taking it
and then claiming he made it, "tinkerish" duergar are
likely to take a different approach. They'd be more
inclined to bribe the gnome into revealing how he made
such a thing (or torture the information out of him),
offer a pint for the trouble after the fact, and THEN
stick a dagger in the gnome's gut. Old Sludgehammer saw
this as a waste of time and ale, and being naturally
quite frugal, he applied the same general distaste to
his son. So, Skid Marc was not at all surprised to
find his son tinkering with a small, cube-shaped puzzle
on the eve of a very laborious dig. They had recently
uncovered a vein of gold and since they were dangerously
close to an umber hulk lair, the entire crew was edgy
and moving at a grueling pace.
Black Ass shouted up at Mughol, who was, for some reason,
seated upon an outcropping about fifteen feet off the
ground. He demanded that his son get his head out of the
stalactites and back down to the stalagmites where he
was needed. Jarred from his cubic delight, Mughol was
overcome with a sudden rage, and in an instant he
decided he would go through with his plan...
PK Wins
Jan 22, 2009|Lv 29|The North Road|Sarien vs 2: Dereli (32%), Mughol (67%, KB)
Jan 23, 2009|Lv 30|The Citadel of Ostalagiah|Dakazhul vs 2: Mughol (67%,KB), Dereli (32%)
Jan 25, 2009|Lv 31|Velkyn Oloth|Bohdran vs 1: Mughol (100%,KB)
Jan 30, 2009|Lv 42|Teth Azeleth|Zaltais vs 2: Mughol (50%,KB), Dereli (49%)
Feb 3, 2009 |Lv 42|The Eastern Road|Zaltais vs 2: Xazier (66%), Mughol (33%, KB)
Feb 7, 2009 |Lv 42|Galadon|Whood vs 2: Grawshen (30%,KB), Mughol (69%)
Feb 8, 2009 |Lv 43|Galadon|Grawshen vs 3: Mughol (0%), Nidblot (67%, KB), Dolce (32%)
Feb 10, 2009|Lv 44|Voralian City|Jebofeaos vs 1: Mughol (100%,KB)
Feb 10, 2009|Lv 44|Desert of Araile|Baladizkal vs 1: Mughol (100%,KB)
Feb 11, 2009|Lv 44|Feanwyyn Weald|Jnoxri vs 3: Iktul (17%), Mughol (37%), Zerrla (44%, KB)
PK Deaths
Jan 26, 2009|Lv 34|The Grove|vs 1: Zikat (0%,KB) *Assassinated*
Feb 3, 2009 |Lv 42|Galadon|vs 1: Proleteria (100%,KB)
Feb 8, 2009 |Lv 43|The Eastern Road|vs 1: Urgok (100%,KB)
Feb 13, 2009|Lv 44|Mortorn|vs 1: Joskay (100%,KB)