Of Fuliginous Lands
Early on, Mūginn established himself as a trafficker, supplier, and finder of rare and unique items for clients willing to pay the fee. Widely known as The Reclaimer, his reputation spread for getting in and out unseen, taking on tasks that others in his trades struggled to achieve. His distinctive abilities were whispered amongst those who sought the most discreet and able.
Throughout the decades, Mūginn had gained notoriety in both Shadow and Material Planes. If something was done right, you'd go to The Reclaimer. He considered himself untouchable within his own corner of the empire he built. The vast network he had created in the underbelly of society was his. Holding a fist full of power within the dark crevices of the Material Plane. His hard-fought station afforded him opportunities that weren't readily available under the absolute rule of Argrinyxia.
Over the years, Mūginn's excessive self-confidence led to the life-altering error. The Dusk-Walker had allowed himself to grow arrogant and a bit too flagrant with wealth and status. Life was good, too good to bother with the petty worries of the average person.
One night, as nights before after a usual commission, Mūginn arrived at The Peccavi. The tavern and inn had been his familiar haunt from time to time. Mūginn had no reason to suspect what awaited him, hidden eyes patient for his return. All he had created, his contacts and power, would not help him against the trap set against him there. The illithids had been hunting for him, catching word of a singular Fetchling who frequented the area. The mind flayers were diligent in their pursuit, discovering Mūginn had the attributes they were looking for. A rare and perfect specimen for their dubious schemes.
Once entering The Peccavi, the trap was sprung to enclose an unaware Mūginn, noticing only until it was too late to fight back or escape. Stunned by the mind flayers, his mind unable to call upon the power of Shadows, he was at the mercy of his illithid abductors.
Viduous Void
The Fletchlings' unique traits only gifted a rare few, and one of Mūginn's caliber was few and far between. Any Fetchling rumored to have such abilities of their kind were seized by the Illithid and taken deep underground, hidden beneath the earth in concealed laboratories.
Away from prying eyes, there was no chance to escape from the insidious grasp the illithid's held. The command of his own mind often ripped away from his control; slowly, he came to recognize that a true void was within. The horrifying realization that there was more to a person but that more was simply nothing. To be aware but unable to comprehend the space between himself, his own consciousness, and his ability to act of his own volition was torture in its own right. However, this was only the beginning.
There, hidden in the catacomb chambers, were unimaginable horrors that took place. Mūginn was not the only Fetchling to endure the inhuman experiments at the hands of the illtihid. The Dusk-walkers numbered a handful, though soon rapidly became fewer as time continued, and trials went on. The illithids' desire to unlock the combination of psionic prowess and undetectable distanced travel would be a great advantage and achievement. It would be a significant step toward the success of their grand purpose.
Pulling outer-realm aberrations was no easy feat; however, the most challenging problem to overcome was the Fusing state. The pure psionic force from the aberration destroyed the Fetchlings connection to their shifting abilities, leaving their subjects useless and sometimes insanity-ridden--but tasty.
Mūginn's experience was no less horrific. Like the others subjected before him, his mind was welded with an alien being, bending his cognizance in cruel directions, threatening to warp then snap. Snap, it did. The breakage splintered up from the sudden rent from his primal existence, the connection integral of his identity. His very being as Mūginn felt his connection to the Shadow shred, cleaving away and falling into the empty nothingness, the void deep within.
Mūginn's ability to jump from one place to another was ravaged by the foreign entity. He was a failure. He was changed, mutated in an amalgamation of the two beings in one. Even so, a disappointment nonetheless.
The Silver Sea
The unintended consequences of meddling with psionic aberrations changed Mūginn and the few Fetchlings that had survived the fusing process. Granting them unusual, great mental ability from the second alien mind. Powerful as they may have been, none of the mind flayer's subjects successfully possessed the coveted, innate Fetchling abilities while undergoing the illithid design.
Unfortunately for the Fetchling survivors of the fusing, the failure to combine the two beings with the specific outcome was not the end. Kept and tested upon, Mūginn endured inhuman methods to discover why the trials ultimately severed the Fetchling's connecting to the Shadow.
Time had no meaning in the Underdark. The only indication that time passed was the deaths of his Kin that happened around him. There were four. Then three. In time, Mūginn was the last. He had survived them all. Alone, deep within the earth, and surrounded by insanity, a reality that had long since turned to senseless madness, Mūginn's stubborn denial to die kept him from falling too deep.
He was a survivor. He had outlived his brothers and sisters. He had built an empire on the foundation of outsmarting others. His tenacity and resolute ferocity had gained him everything. Be damned that his end would be here...
The raiding company of Githyanki arrived with startling swiftness and efficiency. They overtook the catacomb laboratories, slaughtering the illithids in a surge of brutal violence. The massacre could have lasted moments, or perhaps longer. Mūginn had long since dismissed his ruined judgment of time, instead now realizing a new moment was presenting itself in the form of unknown strangers. Strangers who approached him in an odd dialect and an unprecedented thirst for illithid blood.
Looking back, Mūginn's memories with the mind flayers and his subsequent 'rescue' were a blur. Pieces strung out in a fractured line. Though Mūginn couldn't recall much, he remembered the laboratory searched, questions that must've been asked, and his short-lived relief.
Anything was better than the illithids, but even aboard the strange ship governed by the Githyanki, Mūginn recognized that they were no saviors. 722 years in servitude to the Gith. No longer a man with status. A 'Fetch.' Both a disparaging term for his Kin and once-honored profession. No longer the title of 'Reclaimer,' a name that had once wielded power in the Shadows and Material, now more a helpful pet. To fetch at a whim or kill in a blink. More useful still, the aberration burrowed inside granted him the ability to aid the Gith in their exploits. A mental connection for instant contact, an extra push here and there, among other skills he could tap in to for their advantage over the illithid.
In the several hundred years as a Githyanki slave, Mūginn managed to mold himself within their harsh, egoistic society and gain small benefits, earning his places among various raiding crews, proving his usefulness. He found an alignment with the Gith, the gruesome pleasure in slaughtering illithids until their extinction was a motivating force. Moreover, the horrific conception the illithids had unleashed in Mūginn, capabilities that could be used against the mind flayers that made him, was almost too poetic.
A true survivor of the Shadow Plane, he'd endure so to witness the scourge of the tentacle-heads die off, and always in the life-long dance to placate his position of the Gith.
Aug 12th, 2021, 12:52 PM
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