Part 1: What Happened to Pesties?
Chapter 4: The Necronomicon
Timeline: Sixth Age of Substance, 44th Year, Winter
I’ve told you before that how a god views the perceptions of Time is much different than how you mortals agonize over it (1). As such, while the minutes waned as I waited for my slaves to retrieve the spy Pesties, I happily continued to allow my mind to reminisce about how I first learned of The Grim.
After nearly two centuries of doggedly grinding through my work with the dead, I finally hit paydirt when I opened the catacomb portal that housed Unknown Soldier #1,605…
The rough hewn walls of The Necronomicaon were bare and other than the marble altar there were no other furnishings, save for a small sconce holding a barely flickering torch whose low licking flames sucked at the air. I was rather comforted by the gloom – after all, a death communal was more of a mental endeavor. Compared to the more robust physical experiments I performed in the Life Labs, or the slow and painstaking bone classifications of the ultra-bright Morgue, here in the Necronomicon, I could enrich myself in the luxury of the night.
On the marble altar lay a half skull, spine, and thigh—scant for a communal (2)—but draped in finery: rhokkium-ringed chain mail (3), a rune-etched axe that was clearly a copy of Hacktor’s famous weapon.
Hmm, no grunt’s rags these. I surmised. A flicker of memory stirred. Had I once glimpsed this fool beside Hacktor through my Eye of Seraphiel? Just who was this Unknown before me? I was excited to find out.
“AWAKEN!!” I commanded the spirit whose bones lay exposed before me upon the altar. “You will attend to me — NOW!” My Voice spoke with a <POWER> beyond your understanding and Its sinister aura filled every nook and cranny of this truly macabre room.
Yet, in spite of my efforts the remains of the Drrukka never moved.
So, you want a challenge, eh? I mused, looking down at what few bones I had to work with. Well, I’m game, my little friend. Let’s see who wins, shall we?
“I say again, LIVE!” And with a commanding finger, I pointed at the bones, “RISE! Talk with ME! NOW!!”
<Rrrrrrr> <Shhhhherrrrr>. The bones rattled in protest.
“Come…to…me!” I raised my arms on high, the robes falling back to expose the impossibly ancient bones beneath.
Slowly, oh so slowly, did the remains on the marble slab begin to take shape – and I smiled, now confident that a another communal was about to begin.
Concentrating even more, I wove a deeper magic into the aura of the room, speaking in the guttural language of Necromancy, and with each flicker of the torch’s flame, slowly, a form shimmered—a Drrukka lord, middle aged, with black hair and gold-ringed beard framing half a skull, smashed to ruin. Again I felt a sense of Deja Vu.
“I DO know you, friend.” I struggled to recall the memory. “What is your name?”
Yet the mystery warrior’s spirit rebelled at the travesty that was being committed on his remains. (4)
Caring little for the feelings of this once-mortal coil, I continued my exertions, “Arise! Look at me!”
“Whooooo…arrre yooooou,” the words came as if from some great distance, “…to call me back…. from Kawkawzuz?!” (5)
“SILENCE!” I roared. “It is I, Azazel, Lord of the Universe (6), who gives the questions here! Now, tell me your Name, Rank, and Kingdom.”
“ARRRRR!” growled the ghost, his long dead blood boiling, yet without a choice, he gave me what I asked for. “Fredrick Vendal…Herr…Drokka. Ruler of… Kel-de-Kaba.”
My, my. I was taken aback by the revelation, all at once, the pieces fell into place. Indeed, I knew Fredrick Vendal – for I’d long watched him via The Eye of Seraphiel as he’d battled at the side of my pawn nearly the entire length of Hacktor’s war – that is until the great myz Uruk split Fredrick’s proud head during the Battle of Oz!
If anyone knows about The Grim, it might be this wretch. I tried to keep myself calm, but it was a struggle for Fredrick was the petty king of the city where Hef Fastuz had completed the work of forging The Ghast and it companion. I’m close. He knows! I can feel it in my bones. Getting control of myself, I asked my visitor “Dost thou know of The Ghast?”
“Yes.” Grated out the Herr.
The positive answer caught me off guard, for it had been centuries since anyone had actually answered ‘yes.’ Quickly then did I test my guest — wanting to be sure of his knowledge before I allowed myself to hope further. “And who created this blade?”
“Hef Fastuz,” was the minimal reply.
“Did you know him?”
Silence.
I repeated the question, “Did you know Hef Fastuz?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about the dagger.” I threw this question out there, hoping I could get an easy answer.
The Drrukka remained quiet.
Hmm, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. I sighed, before letting my anger get the best of me and suddenly yelling out, “I command you to respond!”
Nothing.
Control yourself, old boy, I told myself, before saying calmly, “Did you ever see The Ghast?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me when you first saw it.” Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help my eyes from glowing with hunger.
My desperation was regrettable and it almost cost me — for the spirit of the Herr suddenly attempted to pull away from me, trying to return to Kawkawzuz! It was everything I could do to hold him and I had to expend a bit of <hellfire> to keep the communal going.
“Do NOT try that again!” I screamed, trying to control my anger and fear. “Fool! Do you want to feel the pain again of when Uruk split you, Fredrik? Know this – I’ll wring you dry or damn us both!”
And so the death communal went on…
Three weeks I wrestled him, my hellfire trickling away too fast for my liking. He spilled on The Ghast—its forging, its might—but dodged the dagger like a loyal cur. Nearly exhausted, I purred, “Fredrik, friend, tell me of the dagger Hef made with The Ghast, and rest free. I promise.”
I gave him my best smile – while secretly vowing to come up with new ways to defile the Drrukka’s bones when all this was over, yet Fredrick struggled against the spells I wove around him. “No more! I know not what you seek.”
“Liar!” My demeanor changed as I unleashed a Spiderweb Spell, black tendrils snaring my victim, even as my last hellfire bled out with the effort (7). “Tell me, or rot here forever!”
“Aaacch!” screeched the Drrukkka, clutching as his mangled throat. “I do not have it! Aaarrrg! Release me, fiend!” The petty king’s armor shook while his body began to bloat beneath it and even the walls of the cavern began to rattle as Fredrik’s soul fought back against me, struggling to return to the netherworld. “Grrrerg! Nooooooo! Let me goooo! I do not have… The Grim. Hacktor gave…it…to…”
But with that the bones of Fredrik Vendal exploded – the shrapnel flying in all directions. I had to take cover below the altar to avoid get hit – but that momentary lapse was all Fredrik’s spirit needed to escape my control and return at last to Kawkawzuz!
I knew the communal was over even before I rose. Silence fell, heavy with my exhaustion as I surveyed the mess Fredrick had left behind. Yet that was the least of my worries – for with my hellfire gone, I was mortal-frail, a blade’s edge from dust (8). I had to beg Baal-Zebub for more —now. He’d make me suffer, but I had no choice.
And yet, in spite of everything, my glee surged. Even as I walked down the lonely passageways towards The Stairway of Infinity, already I was weaving a twisted lie to pin the blame on Gwar – while the ruse wasn’t all that well crafted, I honestly didn’t care.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of Lucifer (or whatever his name was)!
In fact, I actually picked up the hems of my robes and moved faster towards The Stairway – wanting to get my punishment over with as fast as possible so I could return back to your world.
When at last I reached The Stairway and got ready to descend into hell, I had but one thought, one word, on my mind…
GRIM…
Azazel’s Notes
- I could waste a millennia in daydreaming and not think twice, while you fret over losing an hour in traffic. Yet just because I could waste time doesn’t mean I did, and just because you’d shouldn’t squander it doesn’t mean you didn’t. That’s yet another difference between you and I – in spite of its near limitless supply for me, I recognized the value of Time and thus didn’t waste it. Sadly, you people never did understand Time’s preciousness and I’ve watched you waste it every day…to your great detriment.
- Recall that I told you that so long as I had a fully intact skull and at least one rib bone, making a connection to the spirit world was relatively easy for me. In this case, I lacked a complete skull and had not a single rib – thus the reason why these remains were classified as unknown and saved for later.
- Rhokkium was a rather unique metallic gem that the Drrukka discovered in the depths of the Rhokki Mountains around 3240 BC. It was the strongest material ever unearthed on your world and the Drrukka’s weaponsmiths quickly used it to give their warriors an advantage in battle. Check that, because rhokkium was a precious commodity, only the upper echelon of Drrukka society ever carried arms made with this gemrock. Score another for the 1%-er’s, eh?
- I took that as a good sign. First off, nobody said it would be easy, right? More importantly though, I knew that the more the spirit of the Drrukka rebelled, the more my spells were working, and the closer I was to being able to commune with him.
- Kawkawzuz was the Drrukka’s name for the made up location of their afterlife – a dreamworld where they believed they would be able to fight for all eternity beside their god Rhokkii. It’s a pure sham – but then again, aren’t all the afterlife myths?
- OK, that may have been a bit of a stretch, but a god can dream, can’t he?
- Mortality. It’s a scary proposition. For the life of me, I don’t know how you live with that fear every day.
- Thankfully none of my enemies knew of my present condition and had little chance of penetrating the stronghold of The Cauldron even if they did so, in truth, I wasn’t in much danger. But that didn’t stop me from worrying about it!
The Apocrypha of Azazel 