Part V: Political Intrigues
Chapter 5: Father and Son
Timeline: AO 295
And now perhaps it’s a good time to add some color commentary about Hacktor’s father — let me take you inside Baldur’s mind for a spin. Oh don’t worry, Hacktor Derkillez is still the star of the show, but since some rather nasty stuff happens to his father, I thought it might benefit you to know a little backstory about him first – so you won’t feel so bad when old Baldur The Bold bites the dust. And if you’re wondering how I knew his thoughts – remember, for those who had a penchant for the ‘dark side’ I could easily tap into their minds. YOU are lucky I no longer possess this ability – I’m sure you have quite a few skeletons in your closet too.
The Kon-Herr Drokka’s Library at Rhokki Pass was a majestic underground sanctuary, a treasure trove of knowledge and history meticulously curated over nearly three centuries. Nestled deep within the Drokka palace at the main kingdom, the library was renowned for its grand architecture, with vaulted ceilings supported by intricately carved stone pillars depicting legendary figures and historical events of the Drokka people. The atmosphere was both solemn and awe-inspiring, illuminated by the warm glow of enchanted blackwood lanterns that cast a gentle, flickering light, giving the space a timeless quality.
The great library was filled with every copy of The Drokka Kroniklz (all original editions) – these were the sacred texts, kept by the Scribes of Chaldea, detailing the comprehensive history, myths, and genealogies of the Drokka civilization. Beyond the Kroniklz, the library contained rare and priceless books from The Eight Kingdoms of The Mountains as well as texts from numerous cities in The World Above. Besides the many scrolls, perhaps the most striking feature of the library was The Mural of the Ancients – a grand fresco that spanned an entire wall, depicting the legendary journey of the Ajax and the Drokka ancestors when The Freemaker led his people from The World Above to their current subterranean home in the mountains.
With so much knowledge on display, the main floor of the library was usually a beehive of activity – at least among the Royal Scribes, who often parked themselves in any of the many study areas. Occasionally the scribes needed to visit the archival vaults below the main level – here were stored scrolls that detailed the governance, trade agreements, and diplomatic correspondences of the Drokka kingdom. Although these rooms were accessible to the scholars, other rooms – secret rooms, said to contain forbidden knowledge, powerful artifacts, and even confidential state documents that could alter the course of history – were off limits, accessible only to the king and a select few.
And yet, tonight the great library was empty — save for a father and his son. They sat together trying to reconnect a relationship that had started out so well when the son was young, but that had derailed when the child was taken away during his most formative years — taken away without his father’s blessing.
I wonder if Hacktor knows how much I tried to resist Mirkir? Kon-Herr Drokka Baldur III thought as he looked at the man his son had become. Does he know I nearly laid down my crown to keep him by my side? Yet Mirkir was always one step ahead — making it impossible for me to abdicate without ruining Hacktor’s future.
As the time for Hacktor’s return to court had grown near, Baldur found himself both excited and scared. Baldur had been on the throne now for over sixty years, but he wasn’t ready to give it up yet. Hacktor is coming to replace me — perhaps not right away, but it’s inevitable. He knows it as well as I.
Despite his emotions, Baldur, now eighty-five years old yet still hale and sharp, had gone out of his way to make sure his oldest son’s arrival home would be both memorable and welcoming. It was a blow to Bran and perhaps Hecla as well, but those personal slights could not be avoided as the old king desperately wanted Hacktor to feel good about coming back to Rhokki Pass – and he meant to do everything in his power to make that happen.
And so, extravagant feasts were held for a week in Hacktor’s honor. A throne, nearly as grand as Baldur’s own, was added to the dais in The Hall of the Double Axes. Hacktor was even invited to sit at the king’s right hand as Baldur held court and welcomed gifts from the world over — all to be lavished upon Hacktor. He’d invited his son to council meetings and given him a spot on high council itself. And most importantly of all, Baldur had formally recognized Hacktor as his heir on the very day of his arrival.
Yet in spite of all his efforts, as Baldur sat with Hacktor in the library tonight, he honestly had no idea how his son felt about him.
Did I do enough to show him I love him? That I want him here? That I need him by my side? Baldur sank deeper into his chair, studying Hacktor. The prince was dressed in a smoke colored tunic, with a charcoal cape pinned by a tiny golden axe, jet-black stockings, and heavy military-style black boots. He looks like a general from a story book sitting before me. What happened to the boy that Mirkir took from me?
Hacktor’s transformation under Mirkir’s guidance was starkly evident. The king could see that the boy who once looked up to him with wide-eyed admiration had grown into a man of rigid beliefs and unyielding purpose. Mirkir has filled his head with tales of ancient glories and divine mandates – he’s crafted a narrative in which Hacktor is the chosen one – yet he’s setting my son up for an impossible task!
Trying to distract himself from those unwanted thoughts, the king reflected on his son’s childhood – those brief years of happiness before Mirkir’s influence took hold – remembering the time when Hacktor and his twin Hecla were still toddlers. Those were good years. We three loved each other. We were happy. Together we could have conquered the world.
Baldur remembered that Hacktor had been a curious and compassionate child, traits that Mirkir had systematically suppressed. Can I reach my son again? Can I peel back the layers of Mirkir’s teachings and rekindle the bond we once shared?
[OK, I realize that so far Baldur sounds like a pretty swell guy – cares about his son, would have given up the crown to protect him, yada, yada, yada. Rest assured, Baldur’s demons will reveal themselves soon enough]
Baldur had come a long way in this time. Acting under the guise of my version of Rhokki, I helped him come to the throne when he was just 22. I’d also given him a very fertile preteen named Vilma to marry less than a year later.
Had he simply followed my directions life would have been grand for the man – sadly for him Baldur didn’t always listen to my advice. As a result I made he and Vilma barren.
With his wife unable to produce an heir, his advisors strongly encouraged the king to put Vilma away and remarry in order to protect the future of the throne; although Baldur refused, it caused a strain on his relationship with the queen. Luckily for the king I didn’t completely abandon him, for my Rhokki blessed his every political move and further secured his grip on the throne.
Eventually Baldur (and the rest of the Drokka people) came to accept the fact that his lineage would die with him. This caused a host of would-be candidates to jockey for position behind Baldur’s back as they awaited his demise – yet none knew that I had a other ideas.
As Baldur neared his seventh decade of life, I inspired Mirkir The Wyze with glorious visions about Baldur’s offspring, leading the Drokka high priest to believe he’d be able to use them to advance his own designs. Mirkir was so excited by his visions that he traveled to Rhokki Pass to tell Baldur the good news.
Mirkir told Baldur that a vision from their god Rhokki came to him when the priest stood before the sacred flame. He then detailed the following reed to the king…
From the bloodline of kings, a Royal Balkery shall arise, carrying the Krangor’s Mark. This sign, hidden from many but known to the wise, will herald the coming of a leader of destiny. He shall be a beacon in our time of shadow, rallying us in a struggle that will shake the foundations of the earth.
The coming wars will be long and brutal and the Drokka with the Mark of the Beast shall face trials that no other could endure – even The Darkest Day. His name will be whispered alongside the greatest heroes of old – for Krangor’s Balkery shall be the spark that ignites the flame of destiny and grinds our people through the crucible and into the dawn of a new era.
If you’re wondering what a Krangor is, let me help you. Even among the Drokka, the Krangor was of the stuff of legends – a fearsome beast of the deep that took the life of the famous Burner Stynbakker – that miner who discovered Rhokkium – that gem even stronger than diamonds. Although none alive today had seen the beast, The Kroniklz described the Krangor as a slithery snake-like monster, with a horned, armored visage and six sets of predatory eyes that glowed with the ever-changing hues of gemstones. Complete with a maw that housed multiple rows of glittering teeth – made of Rhokkium – the Krangor was said to be capable of biting its way through the rocks of the underworld, thus allowing it to freely move wherever it pleased in the bowels of the flat Earth.
That Mirkir’s Prophecy included a reference to the mythical Krangor must surely have made the priest believe the king would be enthralled by it. Unfortunately things didn’t go quite as the cleric planned – for not only did the king dismiss the idea of Krangor as ‘pure fantasy,’ but the then 68-year old Baldur went so far as to laughed at Mirkir’s suggestions that he and his elderly wife would bear children at all.
Baldur’s disbelief embarrassed Mirkir so much that The Wyze One left the king’s court in a rage, but not before levying a curse on the monarch – one that was subtle yet devastating. Mirkir proclaimed that Baldur would indeed have a son, but that the king’s joy would turn to sorrow, and that because he doubted Rhokki’s blessings, their god would demand a life would be given for the legacy he granted.
Shortly after Mirkir left, his prophecy came true – Vilma was found to be with child. The miracle was celebrated throughout the Seven Kingdoms and Vilma’s pregnancy was a time of great joy for all. Unfortunately that happiness didn’t last – for the elderly Vilma died in childbirth – thus fulfilling Mirkir’s words.
The grieving king was left with twins: Hacktor and Hecla. To Baldur’s great horror, his son Hacktor who was born with Krangor’s Mark – just below his sternum, the boy had a birthmark shaped like a Krangor’s head. Eetched in deep crimson hues, the mark’s details were so fine and intricate that they appeared almost too perfect to be natural. When Hacktor moved, the eyes of the Krangor in the birthmark seemed to glint as if alive, with its maw open in a silent, eternal roar. The king immediately knew that this Mark of the Beast designated him a Royal Balkery – the first since Ajax himself – yet Baldur kept that fact secret. The king vowed to do everything in his power to ensure that Mirkir’s prophecy did not come true – for the the last thing the pacifist Baldur wanted was for his son to lead the Drokka into a cataclysmic war!
In the beginning, the king’s sorrow at losing his soulmate was muted by the joy his children brought him – yet eventually even that joy was stolen from Baldur when a preteen Hacktor’s secret was discovered and the Balkery Prince was taken away by Mirkir to be instructed in the faith by the Wyze One.
That Mirkir became Hacktor’s teacher was required by Drokka law and not even the Kon-Herr could resist the force of that law – much to Baldur’s horror.
All this and more now raced through Baldur’s mind as he looked at his beloved son.
Yet the tallow had barely started burning before Hacktor broached a subject that Baldur was hoping he would avoid — War. Specifically, Hacktor was recommending that he be authorized by the king to lead an army to the Overworld in order to annex The Blackwood Forest.
Eighteen winters is but a drop in the waters of life, son. Baldur shuddered to himself. I pray Mirikir and Haraclez have not filled your mind with their zealous lies so much that you can no longer recognize true wisdom. Yet to Hacktor he replied with a guarded question, “My son, why go to war over wood?”
Hacktor was sideswiped by Baldur’s inquiry. “Wood?” The prince stammered. “WOOD? With all due respect, sire, we’re not talking about just wood, we’re talking about Blackwood — the very lifeblood of our people.”
[This was hardly true. As I mentioned before, the Drokka had become rich beyond compare because they controlled the East-West trade route, but what they didn’t yet control was the Blackwood Forests – the de facto gold mines of their times. Many, like Hacktor, suffered from an intense greed to change this – but not Baldur].
“The Drokka Kroniklz are filled with countless tomes that detail the history of our people before there was this need for Blackwood.” Baldur calmly replied. “And yet our ancestors still survived.”
“Survived, but not thrived.” Hacktor countered. “Father, do I have to remind you that we live inside the bowels of the earth? Blackwood is not just a source for fuel, it provides for the most vital part of our daily needs — light, warmth, cooking fire, and the list goes on. Why not a single part of our lives is not touched by it anymore.”
“Let me ask you — what did our forefathers like Ajax do without Blackwood? Isn’t he still your hero? And yet Ajax didn’t have blackwood, did he?”
“Pah! Forget about Ajax, sire. Why must you be so difficult? You know as well as I that our people made do with whatever was available back then. Be it coal, moss, or one of the other natural resources from the deep depths.” Hacktor was annoyed. “But surely you see how the opportunity to use blackwood changed the game for us? Come now, you can’t deny the massive benefits of blackwood — it’s easier to burn, gives off little smoke, doesn’t throw sparks — obviously very important for controlling dangerous fires within our close confines — and just one small log lasts nearly a full day.”
“Indeed, those are nice luxuries to have.” Baldur agreed.
“Your entire life is luxury, father. Why are you being so difficult? You know as well as I that blackwood is not just a luxury for our citizens, it is a basic necessity. And one which I mean to secure control of.”
It was clear to Baldur that Mirkir had not only shaped Hacktor’s mind but had also sown seeds of distrust and division in the young man. Baldur could see the internal struggle in his son’s eyes, a battle between the loyalty to his father and the allegiance to Mirkir. This conflict had to be dealt with sooner or later – Baldur knew that overcoming it would require patience, understanding, and a willingness to confront the painful truths of their past. Only by addressing the deep-seated influence of Mirkir could they hope to find a path forward together.
When Baldur spoke again, he said, “Your views are interesting, son. However, but for the small stand of blackwood trees that line our main gates, last I heard it was the Derkka who controlled the majority of the blackwood.”
[This was quite true – nearly 95% of all blackwood was located in Gor – lands under the control of the Derks since both clans first migrated to TerrVerde nearly eight centuries ago].
“For now.” Hacktor grumbled. “And only because those slavers live in the overworld and Blackwood Forest is in their lands. Yet I tell you we’ve been under their domination long enough. It needs to change and I will be the one to do it.”
“And what says Mirkir to all this?”
Hacktor’s voice was wary, “He agrees with me.”
“And The Council?”
“It’s YOUR Council!” Hacktor didn’t fall for his father’s trap.
Well at least he’s got a bit of smarts to him, Baldur’s grizzled gray beard covered a smile, “Son, I appreciate your input. And as time goes on I hope you will come to realize that I am going to make every effort to ensure you have a strong voice on the council. No, strike that, let me say it differently — I want you to know that you will help me decide how to run this kingdom. We shall rule together and your voice will be heard. Together we may even be able to topple the ancient families who we both know would love to see the Derkillez name flame out. But on this matter, I ask you to stand by me and take a little time to see how things really are.”
And before the boy could rebut this, Baldur continued. “Son, we’ve got a lot of problems to manage and Blackwood isn’t the most important one. Now that you are out from under Mirkir’s thumb, I mean to show you what the real world is like. I think you’ll see soon enough that our trade agreements with the Derkka, excuse me ‘our rivals’ as you called them, are actually just fine. More than fine actually. Son, we’ve made tremendous strides in improving the lives of Drokka’s everywhere. There is no more need for war. No famine. No poverty. I know there are rumors about possible over-crowding but I don’t buy it. When I look around I see the people are happy, our merchants are enjoying new trade agreements, and even our royal family has prospered like never before. The kingdom is richer than it’s ever been — and one day it will all be yours, Hacktor.”
[It should be noted that everything Baldur just said was hardly true – his view from the palace saw the trifles of growing wealth among a small middle class of merchants and tradesmen but failed to see the plight of the common people in the slums and outlying caves and villages. But the hardships of the peasants of human history have never mattered much and they didn’t matter here either.]
Something else Baldur didn’t know was that Hacktor didn’t care about any of the grand things his father promised him – for I’d long since filled his mind with a different vision – a destiny Hacktor would do anything to fulfill. It was a destiny that required Baldur to step aside – and Hacktor was committed to making sure that happened…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 