A cane made of solid gold and surmounted by a large green gemstone that is the symbol of power carried by the head of the Gotmag clan.
A large seething mass of greenish gunk, Gotmag has the unfortunate tendency to spew slime everywhere when he starts to jabber in that excitable way of his. For this reason, any dignitaries who have to meet him, often drape themselves head to toe in thick, slime repelling cloaks and mantels, hoping that the don’s effusive hospitality dosen’t smother them. (Yes,I mean that literally). Sadly, nothing can protect their eyes from witnessing the tragic fashion disaster that Gomtag is. Clad in what are basically glorified sacks of costly gold-embroidered pink velvet, Gotmag is convinced that dressed to impress as he is in those ‘‘robes’’ of his, courtesy of the best tailors in town, his guests might forgive him his unfortunate habit of slobbering slime all over them. After all, which noble or merchant prince can truly despise a man(yes, he considers himself a man) of exquisite taste?
Gotmag was the creation of a demented mage. Yes, the sort with evil plans to take over the world with his truly fearsome engines of devastation and terror. All too common in the bustling, vibrant city of Frohlk, the few places in the world where every kind of unsavoury wizard or witch is allowed to practice their filthy little crafts in peace, unbothered by the corrupt and bumbling Lord Mayor. As long as all those aspiring necromancers and demon summoners paid the tithe they owed him, the Protector of Virture and Upholder of Justice would turn a blind eye to their nefarious activities. They all ended up dead anyway, ripped to bits by something or someone.
It so happened that one of the more gifted of that pack of magical rabble hit upon the brilliant idea of creating the ultimate weapon of evil:A giant blob capable of devouring anything in its path, invulnerable to weapons of any kind, and best of all, absolutely loyal to him. So with this most evil and dark ambition sitting in his heart, he went to work cultivating and magically augamenting the specimens of giant ooze he had purchased from a wandering trader, all the time chuckling and grinning in a horribilly cliched manner as he imgained how the panicked screams of the victims of his yet to be conceived blob of destruction would pleasure his ears.
After five weeks of much labor and effort, his twistedly ingenious creation finally came to fruitation. With joy and something approaching fatherly love in his eyes, he gazed upon the squirming little green thing in a glass vial.
Only to discover over a painful five week period that his little engine of mass devastation showed no sign of becoming a mindless monster of death and chaos. Timid and fearful in the extreme, the sight of a mere rat would send it into fits of terror. Even more annoying, it was a vegetarian which would turn up its non-existant nose at the finest meat, never mind live, screaming victims. Disgusted by this miserable faliure he had brought into being, the cold hearted mage ordered his man servant to dispose of it.
Being an opportunistic individual with an excellent eye for enriching himself,the servant did not put the little ooze to a painful and vicious death as the mage would have hoped. Instead, he chose to bring it before a high end merchant who made a tidy income from selling rare and exotic animals to the city’s elite. After much haggling back and forth, the servant walked away, richer now by ten gold coins.
The very next day, as fate would have it, a trusted agent of the reclusive and eccentric elderly, Lord Gotmag, crime baron of the city, stopped by the merchant’s store, hoping to find something that would bring cheer again to his employer who was still in mourning over the death of his aged budgie. Just when he had despaired of finding anything that would recall the warm companionship his lord had enjoyed with his late pet(somehow he doubted that bad tempered swamp lizards would be able to bring solace to his now bereft master), the merchant who was determined not to loose what would be a most profitable sale, brought out his trump card:The odd but lovable green ooze that could recite poetry in that adorable warbling way of his. The don’s man was instantly smitten when the little green ooze broke into a charming rendition of ‘‘The Golden Princess’‘. (He didn’t mind the slime it spewed all over his shirt front, having been a member of the Sewer Workers Guild prior to his joining the service of the don.)
And so it was that the little ooze found his way to the opulent residence of the Crime Lord Gotmag. Luck was with him. He and the Lord hit it off very well. Pleasantly surprised by the ooze’s capacity for appreciating both fine literature and his sponge like ability to absorb the gritty complexities needed to run a fine extortion racket, he soon developed a close bond with his little ‘‘son’’ as he took to naming this bosom companion of his. The slime it kept spewing over him was a small price to pay for that.
But long years passed and the ooze started to become aware of an uncomfortable fact. He’d begun to understand that the old don who had never been blessed with a son, would leave the Red Blades with no competant leader when he finally grew too infirm to continue running them. Not that that would be a pressing problem, were he allowed to wear that mantle of authority. But that was just wishful thinking on his part. He was not ignorant of the fact that the addle brained thugs serving his master would never reconcile themselves to the idea of working for a slimy blob when the old lord would have the reins of the vast criminal empire that every high official in the city answered to, to a younger and more vigorous successor.
By then, the seeds of burning ambition had been planted in his heart. Why should he, the talented and gifted confidant of the old don himself, watch his richly deserved position pass to some idiot leg breaker that probably had trouble putting on his own boots? How could he see the glorious legacy of his master be plowed under by gross mismanagement, when under his gifted and farsighted leadership,it would prosper and even expand? No, he had to do all in his power to see to it that he succeeded to the throne that was his.
Thus it was that when the old don was struck down by a swift, brutal stroke, he was ready to seize the moment. True the old man had barely survived by the skin of his teeth but he had lost the ability to speak again, capable now of only making wet, drooling noises(much like the ooze itself), inspite of the best efforts of his doctors. Rushing to the scene(and in the process, leaving a huge trail of slime for everyone to slip on)he declared that as of now, he was the only one who could understand the don and should thus be made his spokesman. Though irritated by what they considered to be the upstart little slime ball’s rude intrusion, they believed him and gave him that position with only a little grumbling
The ooze of course, was lying. It was clear to him that the old man was as good as dead now, given the fact that he would never emerge from his comatose state. Claiming to speak on behalf of the don, he secured his entry into the organization and saw to it that he moved swiftly through the ranks. This period also saw great victories that the Red Blades achieved against their foe, the Thieves Guild, thanks to the shrewd cunning the ooze had imbibed from his former master, resulting in the near destruction of the latter. Had the old don still possessed his wits, he would have been undoubtedly proud.
The day of revelation came a couple of days after their greatest raid against the Thieves Guild. Ordering the top hench men of the Red Blades to enter the usually off-limits private study of the don, the ooze waited until all were gathered there and then declared that for the past few years, he had been running everything. The old don was a mentally impaired vegetable and would never get his mind back again. The complete success of all their recent blows against the Thieves Guild, they owed to him.
The reaction of the stunned and outraged audience predictably, was intense disbelief followed by the utmost fury that the contemptible ooze had been playing them like puppets all this while, manipulating men like them into doing his own sly bidding. Some of them grabbed their weapons and begun to charge at him, swearing to hack his slimy arse into bloody bits.
But the ooze had been sharp enough to anticipate and prepare for such a situation. Drenching everyone present with slime, he warned them that if they attempted to slay him, he would easily squirm his way out through a drain or pipe of some kind. Once out in the streets, he would seek out and sell their dearest secrets to the vengeful remants of the Thieves Guild, cornered men who were hungry to avenge the massive losses inflicted on them by the Red Blades.
Realizing that the ooze was more than capable of carrying out his threat, they reluctantly gave him their oath of loyalty. Now all that remained was to complete the final step of his plan. In order to become the old Lord’s legitamate heir, it would be in his utmost interest to marry the old man’s only daughter, a raven haired beauty that had set the blood of many of the city’s young men burning with desire. To everyone’s appalled astonishment, the young woman actually agreed to the ooze’s proposal when he shyly approached her and asked for her fair hand in marriage. A lavish wedding ceremony was thrown a couple of day later and the hitherto scorned and unknown ooze assumed the proud family name of Gotmag.
He now rules the city with an iron fist, striking fear into the hearts of all who would dare to defy him.
Gotmag is very sensitive about what he is. Though he accepts and understands that it is his fate to remain a large blob of ooze for the rest of his existance, he still feels that he should be honored for his achievements, rather than be mocked for what he is. For this reason, it burns him when he is not invited to the latest ball thrown by city nobility.(Something which happens very frequently). As for insulting him to his face by calling him a big ball of slime, it sends him into an indignant, righteous rage. Anyone stupid enough to do this can expect to be treated to an impassioned lecture on the evils of racisim(expect the slime to fly), right before he suffers the rather unpleasent fate of being suffocated by powerful tendrils of slime pouring down his nostrils and throat.
The one human who does seem to genuinely care for him,is none other than his beautiful wife. Those close to the unlikely couple, say that despite a race barrier that some would call insurmountable, they are soul mates who share the same passions and loves. Indeed, they are deeply in love with each other. Hence, it is no surprise that Gotmag is deeply protective when it comes to his wife and will not tolerate any slurs or disparaging remarks thrown at her. A fool who goes around telling everyone what exactly he thinks of that perverted whore’s twisted sexual fetishes, should look forward to a gruesome and painful death.
One more thing to keep in mind is that if the PC’s get involved with the Thieves Guild in any way, they can expect Gotmag’s goons to tail them.