Part VI: The Great Escape
Chapter 9: The Glamour
Timeline: AO 295
Hecla and the Secret Servants were the way back to the palace with her father’s prize – the deserter Queen Gawan – the Derkka princess who had deserted Baldur after the Drokka king had seen Gawain’s true reflection in the Mirror of Mersia.
Now Hecla and the guards rode their ponies beside the rikpull that carried Gawain and her maid as they travelled along the Drokka Byways a labyrinthine network of tunnels that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The darkness was oppressive, pierced only by the flickering light of torches held by the Secret Servants. Occasionally, the eerie glow of bio-luminescent fungi provided brief, ghostly illumination. The air was thick and damp, filled with the echoing sounds of dripping water and the occasional skittering of unseen creatures. The narrow passages twisted and turned unpredictably, the walls seeming to close in on the travelers, amplifying the claustrophobic feeling that gnawed at Hecla’s nerves.
The guards continued joking at Gawain’s expense, yet for her part Baldur’s runaway queen never replied to their banter. Meanwhile Hecla’s mind was a tumultuous sea of emotions as she rode alongside the rikpull. It’s true she’d captured her prize, but that didn’t take away her own pain. She could feel her jaw clenched tight, her teeth grinding in frustration. Anger, jealousy, and a flicker of fear warred within her, each thought racing through her mind in a chaotic dance.
As they rode onward, Helca looked at the landscape of the tunnels. Rocky outcrops jutted out from the earth, casting long, sinister shadows in the dim light. Sparse vegetation clung to the barren ground, twisted and gnarled as if struggling to survive. The occasional distant howl of an unknown creature echoed through the air from afar adding to the sense of isolation. Collapsed tunnels and abandoned paths hinted at a once-bustling network now fallen into disrepair, a testament to the relentless passage of time and neglect.
To cheer herself up Hecla sought to look in up on Gawain. As she pulled alongside the rikpull, she got a sense that the air inside the carriage was stale and musty, thick with the scent of fear and despair. Tattered curtains fluttered faintly with each jolt of the carriage, which struggled over the uneven terrain. The bumpy ride made Gawain and her maid sway and jolt uncomfortably, each bump and rock causing them to wince and clutch at the worn leather straps for stability – much to Hecla’s delight.
When Gawain dared to look at Hecla, the latter was pleased to see that Baldur’s bride was the very picture of despair. Gawain’s once-bright eyes were hollow, the light in them extinguished by endless tears. Her cheeks were streaked with the tracks of her sorrow, her shoulders slumped in utter defeat. She appeared to be whispering prayers for mercy, but her voice was barely audible over the rumble of the carriage wheels. Hecla saw Gawain’s hands trembling uncontrollably, clutching at the fabric of her dress. There was no fight left in her, only the quiet acceptance of a fate she could not escape. And yet, to Hecla’s horror, she realized that, even in her despair, Gawain still looked extraordinarily beautiful – and Hecla hated her for it!
How can that woman always look so gorgeous? Hecla was flummoxed at the thought, unable to stop herself from looking her rival’s way more often than she cared to admit. Even Gawain’s maid looks amazing. Every Derkka woman from Babel does. For that matter, even the Babelonian men are handsome. What is it about the people from the capital that they so outclass us? It can’t just be because they live outside – for the Derkka people as a whole are horrific goblin-like creatures and Gawain and her crew have lived here with us for over four years and show no ill effects. It can’t be the food for the same reason – they’ve eaten what we eat. So what is it? Are we Drokka cursed or something?
Once again Hecla’s innate ability to ‘read between the lines’ was again on display — for there was indeed a curse at play that concerned the Derkka of Babel’s beauty (and the Drokka’s lack of it). But it wasn’t Hecla’s people that were cursed.
The reason the Drokka were ugly was simply because you humans have always been an ugly bunch. Don’t blame that on me. You’re born ugly and, despite your best efforts, you die ugly. The Drokka’s lifestyle only made things worse – centuries of living below ground had not only made them squat, but their poor diet, lack of exposure to the life-giving sun, and the fact that they were typically gluttons only added to their people’s overall disgustingness. For her part Hecla was a bit of an exception — in spite of being a Drokka, she was actually quite beautiful, therefore it’s no wonder she was the most sought after maiden in the eight kingdoms. But I digress.
As far as any curse goes, it was actually the Derkka people who were marked – or at least some of them.
The Derkka priests called it Baal’s Curse and what neither Hecla nor any of the Drokka knew was that the Derkka had a legend — long ago the All Powerful One they called their god Baal (which you’ll recall was one of my alter egos) had cursed the Derkka for allegedly paying homage to ‘other gods.’
As my Baal reminded his people at the time, ‘I am a jealous god. You shall have no other gods besides me. Lest you forget, my curse shall always remind you.’ Now whether that prior affront was real or imagined, who can say? But what was very real, was the result of Baal’s plague — for it caused terrible ‘goblin-esque’ deformities among the entire Derkka people.
After generations of supplication to Baal (and a promise to worship him as their sole god), my Baal relented his wrath towards Derk’s people – or at least a portion of them. Yet even then the god’s forgiveness was tempered. Rather than actually cure them of their disease, I chose a different path.
First I conducted some genetic experiments with the Derkka people that lived in their capital city of Babel – I crossed some of them with a handful of the Amorosi forest people I’d captured and thereby introduced the Amorosi traits into the Derkka gene pool. [You’ll remember the Amorosi were birthed from the of the man Adam and the lumenarc goddess Alyssa].
Yet things didn’t quite work out as I’d planned – oh it’s true certain Amorosi characteristics became hereditary in those Derkka who lived in Babel, and those clans of Derk soon became leaner, taller, and slightly more beautiful (read: less ugly) than their more ‘Common’ brethren from the countrysides, but even these so-called “Babel Derkka”were still grotesque. However, I was intrigued by the fact that the Babel Derk also grew more intelligent than the rest of their clans.
Over time the men of Babel built their city (and others) into quite an empire. Wanting to test their intelligence, I decided to toy with them a bit – appearing to them as the “Son of Baal” figure of their religion (whom they named Nektar), I offered them a unique solution – one I called The Glamour — a magical aura that I cast over the Derkka of Babel. The Glamour caused everyone who was not from the city of Babel to see the men and women of Babel as the most beautiful people in the world!
At first the people of Babel were delighted and they praised Nektar for his help. Unfortunately they quickly discovered there was a bit of a catch — for when these “Babelonions” looked at their own reflections, they saw the truth of their appearance, and knew they were still ugly.
When the Derkka forefathers complained about this oversight to their father god Baal, my Baal advised them their ability to see the truth of their appearance was in fact intentional. “Be grateful that I have allowed my son Nektar to give you this much.” The evil godling warned. “And never forget your sin – else what awaits you next will be even worse.”
[Ok, OK, I know what you’re thinking – if Baal is one of my alter egos, and Nektar was too, then wasn’t I playing both sides of the fence? The answer is YES. That’s obvious. But that’s what makes the game so much fun, neh?]
Hecla, of course, knew nothing about The Glamour and since Gawain, her maid, and even her dead eunuchs were Babelonian, all of them were beautiful compared to the Drokka. As a result, Hecla’s eyes burned with jealousy and resentment every time she looked at Gawain. She could not understand how this woman, even in her despair, could look so effortlessly beautiful. Her jaw tightened, and she could feel the muscles in her neck strain with the effort to maintain her composure. She wanted to lash out, to scream at Gawain and tear that beauty away. Her hatred was a living thing, coiled tightly around her heart, and it took all her willpower to keep it from exploding into violence.
But then it was that something rather horrifying happened.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. “I can’t take it anymore!” Gawain shrieked, her voice raw with terror and despair. Before anyone could react, she began clawing at her face, her nails raking across her skin.
Flesh tore under her frantic scratching as The Secret Servants pulled their ponies back in shock. Hecla could only stare, frozen by the gruesome spectacle. Gawain’s maid tried to restrain her, sobbing and pleading, but the queen’s frenzy was unstoppable, her screams echoing through the tunnels like a nightmare come to life.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 