Lore

Surprisingly, death nearly claimed Mog-Mog. A beast – the Moodies know nothing of its origins, and even under the most stringent of agonies they refused to give it a name – sensed his power and sought him out as prey.

Mog-Mog accepted the thing’s challenge. He sent his tribe to fight it, but they were effortlessly annihilated in waves by this greatest of foes.

Finally came Mog-Mog himself, his staff lifted in anger, the stuttering words of his primitive tongue voicing curses that would have
sundered the spirit of a lesser being. But not this… thing… this enemy the Moodies fear even more than they fear me.

Once again, Mog-Mog died. His body was broken, his mask was cracked, and his soul was wracked and ravaged. It seemed the end had finally come for him…

Lore

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…

Lore

The creation of Mog-Mog’s new mask was a drain on his power, and this is the folly that ultimately destroyed him. His tribe, hating his appetites yet frightened of earning his wrath, saw their chance to destroy their immortal master. His mask was hidden, his head was shrunken, and his people were free of him.

It is this mask – the Mask of Mog-Mog – that I have been seeking! I am certain it still contains his power. It waits for a new master to possess it… and who better than I, Laveka, to be that
master?

My searching has brought me here, to this volcanic island, along with my allies.

Yes… even I need allies on occasion, though such pacts are temporary at best. The Redmoon Pirates, who now claim the Skullcano as their lair, have suffered me among their number in exchange for a whit of my power.

The Marauder captain – Mordechai Redmoon – believes that he controls me… what a laughable thought! He is a greedy fool whose only interest lies in physical wealth. The Mask of Mog-Mog,
which has come into his possession, stolen from the Grim-Grim Moodies, is one of many trinkets he hoards in the sultry depths of this volcanic nest…

Lore

And now… it finally ends, for the Mask of Mog-Mog is mine!

With the Mask, I shall unlock the true potential of my own vast necromantic powers! Though I am arguably the most capable Necroshaman to grace this planet’s surface, the Mask will make me all the more so. With it, nothing will stop me from achieving those goals that for so long have remained elusive… and all shall tremble in fear before Laveka!

As for those self-styled “heroes” who pursue me…? Mordechai will deal with them, as will
his witless Marauders. And even if these scum succeed in destroying him, it will hardly matter. By then, I will be far from here…

…and the Mask of Mog-Mog will be with me!