Once, Long ago, a proud dwarven clan stood. The Kingdom of Barakuir, filled with valiant and honorable men and women alike of all sects. Priests, warriors, skalds, leaders, children. Long stood their kingdom, Until the War of Wars, The Mindstalker war. While the larger clans of Shield dwarves were being beset by Orc and Goblin alike, allies who have warred for centuries at the time with Dwarven kind, The Kingdom of Barakuir faced a new foe.
With unlimited power, resources, and men, The Mind Flayers laid waste to Barakuir. Hundereds of Thousands within the kingdom fought tooth and nail for territory, amongst the Thralls. Beasts never seen before, ranging from Deep Lizards to those seen regularly, such as Ogre, swarmed over every line of defense placed. Slowly. Unceasingly, driving back the lines.
This sick, twisted war lasted for decades. The valiant defenders of Barakuir living up to their dwarven heritage, fought relentlessly against all odds. Numerous scouts were sent to the Rift and other prominent Dwarven Settlements, and the Priests prayed each morning for aid from the Mordisammen.
The men and women of Clan Duergar, champions of Barakuir, heard no word from their scouts to the Shield Dwarves. Their prayers to Moradin and his allies went unheeded. Limited Gold Dwarves allowed supply and shipment, admirable given conflict but they had always been grand traders and merchants. But the Shield Dwarves and their deities succumbed to bloodlust against Orc and Goblin alike.
Such left Cland Duergar of the Kingdom of Barakuir, to an unspeakable hell unlike anything ever known. Centuries upon centuries, toiling as Thralls do, until a powerful Duergar woman by the name of Duerra rose up. Toiling amongst the city of Oryndoll, It was said that the Warlord rose up against the Illithid God itself, and ripped from it Psionic powers. The Art. A tool to fight back. The ability to resist their enthrallment.
The scars left are deep. The Betrayer's mark lay upon all Duergar. The Shield dwarves who left them to die, to this day still feel justified by their action. They accuse. They fight. They hunt. The Duergar do not seek mercy, but that which is due to them.
Think of such, before you cast stone. The Duergar slaves once, twisted beneath the mindflayer menace, left by their sworn allies to face a fate worse than death. It is not hard to see why one would be cynical. Why one would do anything to survive, slaving those weaker than them, reveling in cruelty, after the conflict and horror faced.
One must survive in underdark. The Duergar have long known such must be done by any means necessary. But it is not as if they were born such. Once goodly people, abandoned by all they loved, hoped, and trusted. Their Gold Dwarf allies are still dealt with on a small scale, in return for the limited aid offered so very long ago. Trade and alliances are kept from time to time. However as the Shield Dwarves left them to die, The ghosts of Barakuir still dwell well within the lives of all living Duergar. Taught from mother to daughter. Father to son. The fate of those, once good, who were-
Left to die below.
-Khanuk Mur.