Murmurs of Morgrum

[Clownbaby]

Morgrum sat at a wooden table in his room at the Adventurer's Guild. Dimly lit by candle light and filled with the stagnant smoke of the pipe that he puffed on as he stared intently at the mug. His beady eyes squint between rumbling mutters as he considered the object and it's implication.

He and his guild mates had recovered something priceless. A lost artifact of an ancient dwarven clan, no doubt. The mug itself was a work of dwarven art, worthy of a king, but the enchantment made it something sacred. A mug supposedly able to fill itself with ale that can heal a dwarf. A bit of drool began to form on the corner of Morgrum's mouth at the thought of testing the mug's ability... again. Just to be sure.

It foamed to the top with strong dark beer as soon as he gripped it's handle. Morgrum drank deep from the mug. The ale, thick and dark as pitch, nearly brought a tear to the dwarf's eye. He sighed in satisfaction as the ale spread a wholesome warmth through his body. Placing the mug back down, he focused his mind on the situation at hand.

Contracted by Undercliff to deal with the threat from ankhegs, guildmaster Sambar gathered a solid group capable of completing the task. Sambar, Morgrum, Benjamin, Torin, and Grimm. After a short meeting with the towns leadership, the group set out to cull the ankhegs on the surface and search for clues that might explain their increased activity. It wasn’t long before the ground of that unstable land gave way beneath them and they found themselves trapped in unfamiliar caves. Something truly had set the pests to ruining the lands around Undercliff.

Morgrum grimaced as he recalled the events that day. They fell hard into the deep dark and fought off several ankhegs before gaining their bearings. The walls around them were old and long claimed by nature, but there was a rough hewn shape to them even after all these years. Morgrum tugged at his beard, dust falling free with every stroke as he considered the still sound structure of such an old excavation. There they had found the mug, nestled beneath what seemed to be a water well of dwarven craft. After claiming it, the guild fought their way though strange lizard men armed with weapons and eventually found their way out...

What was the fate of this potential dwarf hold? Had these dwarves been assaulted long ago by some enemy and since gone unavenged? The thought did not sit well with the grumbling dwarf. Why had the mug remained untouched for so long? Was it Moradin's will they fall into such a place to discover it? Were they the only ones to know of it?

Morgrum puffed at his pipe once more as he stared intently on the mug. Grimm would take it to cast spells upon it to ensure it's location remain hidden from any scrying eyes. The next step would be to scout the land around Underhill. If there is a network of tunnels or perhaps even dwarven ruins beneath the surface of Undercliff, it must be mapped. No sense in going into any fight blindly. Beneath the ground is where this battle against the ankhegs, and perhaps others, would be fought.

"There's much work teh be done. But we'll need allies. Hrmm... Who teh trust?"

[Peter_Abelard]

The finely polished bar of the Adventurer's Guild was always a welcome sight to the often weary dwarf. Coated in dirt and grime he made his way towards the keg with a mighty thirst, poured himself an ale and sank into the stool at the bar. It was late and the other guild members were away or asleep. Only beautiful and diligent Vana was still milling about, setting her affairs in order before she turned in for the night. Morgrum gave her a wink and swore she winked back. Only a matter of time he thought and grinned before taking a long awaited swig of ale. He sighed with a bitter look towards his plain mug. It was no dwarven healing ale. He'd not tasted finer ale since discovering the sacred mug which now laid in Grimm's possession for safekeeping. His mind lingered on those thoughts awhile before he shook his head, grunted, and drained his mug of the shoddy brew. It had been a long day...

The guild had set out towards Undercliff once more hoping to discover a stable cavern or shaft that led unto the caverns and ruins beneath Undercliff. They searched high and low around the lands, culling the ankheg infestation along the way, and in the process they were ambushed from below by a giant of the vermin. It grappled with Morgrum several times before finally throwing the cursing dwarf into the depths below. It continued on it's rampage above the surface and kept guild members busy while closing off any way to the now stranded dwarf. Morgrum tumbled down into the depths and at last rolled into a fighting stance at the bottom. Looking around he saw nothing but stone, but his bulbous nose sniffed and revealed a noxious enemy. Troglydytes. Morgrum had smelled their lot before on a previous visit. It was a foul stench no one could forget.

There was no telling where an exit might be or if his guild mates would uncover an entrance. Isolated and alone in the dark with no way back the way he came, Morgrum began to assess his situation. He checked his pack for supplies. A few bottles of ale, but no food. The dust covered dwarf lifted his helm from his sweaty head and plucked the chunk of cheese from atop his head. He gave it a sniff, grimaced, then nodded contently before putting it back and donning his helm. With enough supplies to stretch a few days, Morgrum made his way through the unknown tunnels and it did not take long for him to cross paths with the wretched lizard folk.

Their scales gave way to the dwarf's axe easily enough, but the stench that spewed from every wound inflicted was intolerable. Soon enough a group of their kind had fallen upon Morgrum, and though his axe swung true, the cavern was filled with such a stench that he feared might stain his beard for life. It overwhelmed him and despite all his training, he could not fight, he could only stumble his way through the gaseous fumes. Slowly but surely he cut down the lot of them, but not before one summoned a rust monster to eat the dwarf's beloved hood. Morgrum sat at the bar and grimaced at the memory. He'd nearly killed himself ten times over mining the iron for that work of art. Countless hours of braiding steel wires into a mesh beneath the cloth that would prevent every attempt at damage. It was invaluable to him. And in an instance it was undone. Cursing and grumbling, he hopped off the bar stool and poured himself another ale. At least he made it out of the caves he thought with a grunt. Eventually the others found an entrance and reconnected with the dwarf, so at least they could come and go from the surface as they pleased, there were veins of ore down there that Morgrum planned on claiming from the ankhegs and lizard folk. But that was proving to be a momentous task.

Grimm and the others had set to devising a strategy to counter the stench and the summoned rust monsters. The guild's tactics would be sound on the next assault, but they still needed allies. Morgrum guzzled down the ale and then tugged at his beard in deep thought. It would be easy enough to find willing adventurers, but who could they trust given the possible sacred factor of the discoveries below? Guild master Sambar, young Benjamin, and the fellow dwarves were a given. Morgrum muttered and took out a scrap of paper and bit of charcoal to write a list.

"Maday"
"Ril"
"Jory"
"Caley"
"...Heri?"

Bah! The dwarf shouted in frustration and drained his mug. Bards and elves? He needed more time to think... and stronger ale to drink... The mug was only a flight of stairs above him...

[Peter_Abelard]

Posted for CB. Great work fella, keep it coming!

[Clownbaby]

Morgrum hung from his chained feet in the cell of the Xanathar's prison. His beard and body was coated in grime and crusted blood. He tried to hum a bawdy tavern song about a favorite cheap whore before a spasm of pain gripped him.

The dwarf had endured great punishment for his stubborn personality wrought at the hands of the Xanathar's servants. His bitter hatred of this enemy, desire for his guildmates survival, and thirst for vengeance had kept him alive up to this point. The hanging dwarf eventually blinked out of unconsciousness and weakly moaned at his seemingly inevitable defeat.

This was no way for a dwarf to meet his doom. If he could just get his hands on a guard and at least go out in a fight, but that was impossible.. he'd payed several broken bones, teeth, and blood to learn that. Not that it would help his guildmates in the end.. "Gorm Gulthyn.. ah was their shield and ah faltered..." Morgrum relived facing the Xanathar again and shuddered as the edges of his vision blurred and he hung silently once more.

[Peter_Abelard]

The angry dwarf rifled through the bar's stock after finally resurfacing from wherever his black mood had taken him. The same old swill Sambar saw fit to stock. Still not a proper dwarven ale in the whole damned city still..
He felt the black mood coming on again. His usual hearty demeanor had been replaced by a constant dark brooding. He'd been laid low by the Xanathar, no.. worse. Frightened. Broken. Shamed...

Worse still an effort to rescue had been made. One that a manling traded his life for.. A manling he had never met and had yet to pay his respects to. Morgrum gritted his broken teeth and slammed a ham sized fist into the bar before downing the stoutest drink he could find in the cabinet.

The Xanathar had to die... It was the only way he could redeem any honor and face his ancestors after death. And so with an oath and a curse on his lips, the dwarf set out with new resolve to train more recruits and hone his own skills, and what better way to do that than to join his companions in Undercliff. There was much blood yet to be spilt in those lands and his axe had a mighty thirst.

[Peter_Abelard]

Last Will


It was chaos in the Blue Alley.

All had gone well until now, too well. Declan, Ril, Morgrum, and Peartlin has made short work of whatever strange constructs the dwarf-scout Ebnir had brought back with him. Sambar tucked safely behind the shield wall where he could best wield his magic. With the sly dwarf carefully picking a path through the treacherous traps, the party had little trouble reaching the pile of gold and treasure that awaited them. Ebnir moved in to investigate as the others got into formation, ready for whatever lay guarding the riches. Or so they thought...

Statues from every wall and alcove rushed the party. Huge golems and gargoyles of stone fell upon them from every direction. Helmed statues came to life and even a metal minotaur rushed them from behind. Too many to count for the old dwarf. With no time to think he roared into battle. The golem fists fell upon the dwarf like an avalanche of stone. Ribs broke and the few teeth left cracked. But Grom's adamantium hammer struck true and left great fractures in the foes. Sparing a moment to look around for the familiar green glow of Declan's blade and seeing no others, the dwarf realized he was well and truly shogged.

Pushing away from the foes and grimacing through the pain lancing through him, the dwarf tried to pull back to a more strategic point but the stone golems were quicker than they looked. A fist of stone rocked the dwarf's helmed head and then.. nothing.

Suddenly through the blurred vision of one good eye a familiar red shape came into view. Sambar knelt down and gave the dwarf enough life to pull him to his feet. It was chaos all around as his friends still fought hard for their lives. He followed the sound of battle and limped around the corner to see everyone still locked in combat. With a final howl he threw himself into the thick of the battle. The dwarf fought madly but he wasn't made of stone. He was little more than a pile of broken bones and punctured skin now and he knew it. After a final swing of that beautiful hammer, the dwarf was slammed to the floor by the stone golem's fist. He could barely hear the battle raging on and a fire burned like a forge within him, but there was nothing left to smelt. Through a tear stained eye he watched the huge foot of the stone golem raise over him.

He had failed. Oaths left unfulfilled. He wouldn't be seeing the Halls of Moradin. But in his heart he never really thought he would. A clanless dwarf without honor to the end...

But he had found something of a family.

Caley, Sambar, Grimm, Torin, Benjamin, Ebnir, Heri, Ariella, Maday... Ril. Even warmed up to that coward Crow and those House of Wonder snobs after awhile. He'd had a good life surrounded by good friends.
Never did find a decent alehouse though... Too late for that the dwarf supposed as he watched the stone foot come down. He closed his eye and thought of Vana.

[Ithildur]

Spoiler:

Last Will


It was chaos in the Blue Alley.

All had gone well until now, too well. Declan, Ril, Morgrum, and Peartlin has made short work of whatever strange constructs the dwarf-scout Ebnir had brought back with him. Sambar tucked safely behind the shield wall where he could best wield his magic. With the sly dwarf carefully picking a path through the treacherous traps, the party had little trouble reaching the pile of gold and treasure that awaited them. Ebnir moved in to investigate as the others got into formation, ready for whatever lay guarding the riches. Or so they thought...

Statues from every wall and alcove rushed the party. Huge golems and gargoyles of stone fell upon them from every direction. Helmed statues came to life and even a metal minotaur rushed them from behind. Too many to count for the old dwarf. With no time to think he roared into battle. The golem fists fell upon the dwarf like an avalanche of stone. Ribs broke and the few teeth left cracked. But Grom's adamantium hammer struck true and left great fractures in the foes. Sparing a moment to look around for the familiar green glow of Declan's blade and seeing no others, the dwarf realized he was well and truly shogged.

Pushing away from the foes and grimacing through the pain lancing through him, the dwarf tried to pull back to a more strategic point but the stone golems were quicker than they looked. A fist of stone rocked the dwarf's helmed head and then.. nothing.

Suddenly through the blurred vision of one good eye a familiar red shape came into view. Sambar knelt down and gave the dwarf enough life to pull him to his feet. It was chaos all around as his friends still fought hard for their lives. He followed the sound of battle and limped around the corner to see everyone still locked in combat. With a final howl he threw himself into the thick of the battle. The dwarf fought madly but he wasn't made of stone. He was little more than a pile of broken bones and punctured skin now and he knew it. After a final swing of that beautiful hammer, the dwarf was slammed to the floor by the stone golem's fist. He could barely hear the battle raging on and a fire burned like a forge within him, but there was nothing left to smelt. Through a tear stained eye he watched the huge foot of the stone golem raise over him.

He had failed. Oaths left unfulfilled. He wouldn't be seeing the Halls of Moradin. But in his heart he never really thought he would. A clanless dwarf without honor to the end...

But he had found something of a family.

Caley, Sambar, Grimm, Torin, Benjamin, Ebnir, Heri, Ariella, Maday... Ril. Even warmed up to that coward Crow and those House of Wonder snobs after awhile. He'd had a good life surrounded by good friends.
Never did find a decent alehouse though... Too late for that the dwarf supposed as he watched the stone foot come down. He closed his eye and thought of Vana.

((Well played Clownbaby... assuming PA is posting due to forum access issues or whatnot?
Loved the character, only regret is not enough interactions with him before the demise, and not getting a chance to hash out where things might've gone with the former ally/Abomination. Much respect for the final decision.))