Part VIII: Weapon of Mass Destruction
Chapter 10: The Great Reset
Timeline AO 299
The news of the Twin Towers’ fall spread through Rhokki Pass and the mountain kingdoms like wildfire. A collective gasp of horror echoed through the stony halls, reverberating off the jagged cliffs that had stood as silent sentinels for centuries. The Drokka, a proud and war-hardened people, were thrust into an unfamiliar abyss of fear and confusion—an emotion they had not known for generations. It was as if the very foundation of their world had crumbled along with the towers, leaving nothing but dust and despair in its wake.
And that was when the true fun began!
Monty Redstone, the puppet of the elites, had already woven his web of deception long before the first stone tumbled from the towers. His network of town criers, with voices trembling in feigned terror, spread the lie that Kon-Herr Baldur had been assassinated by the accursed Derkka terrorists. The fear that gripped the hearts of the Drokka was palpable, a dark fog that choked the air and suffocated reason. Yet, for all their ancestors’ valor, the Drokka had grown soft under the decades of Baldur’s peace. They spoke of revenge, but their words were hollow, their resolve shattered.
Instead of rising to arms, the populace descended into panic. They cowered in their mountain caves, mistaking every shadow for the enemy, every whisper for the harbinger of Ragnarok. The dread of impending doom gripped them so tightly that it seemed to squeeze the very life from their veins. But it was only going to get worse.
In the months that followed Baldur’s murder, the world of the Drokka further unraveled. Supply lines withered and died, markets became battlegrounds, and the scent of desperation hung heavy in the air. Thork Drivingstone, a man who had once proudly represented all the merchant guilds of the Gaatz clan, shocked the public by throwing himself off the Volzung Bridge. [Or so they were told. In truth, Thork’s death was orchestrated by Klyntz assassins, his demise a calculated move in Monty Redstone’s continued ascent to power for himself and his clan. Thork’s death only fueled the chaos, sending the economy into a tailspin and deepening the hopelessness that had taken root in the hearts of the people.
As the kingdom of Rhokii Pass seemingly teetered on the brink of collapse, the common folk bore the brunt of the suffering. Starving and terrified, they fled deeper into the mountains, abandoning their homes, their children, and their hope. The tunnels that had once been safe havens became tombs, filled with the sounds of weeping and the stench of fear. Entire families vanished, swallowed by the darkness.
Yet, amid the chaos, there were those who thrived.
The select few, who had orchestrated the fall of the towers, now moved to seize their prize. Lord Aric, Chaney Busz, Fukbyl Gaatz, and their cronies exploited the panic, executing a ‘great reset’ of the economy. Land, resources, and wealth flowed into their coffers, the riches of the kingdom stripped from the hands of the people and hoarded by the elite. The commoners, broken and destitute, were left with nothing but the cold stone of the mountains and the bitter taste of betrayal.
Meanwhile, Mirkir the Wyze played his part to perfection. The Nave priests, under his command, spread tales of divine retribution for Baldur’s sins, demanding sacrifices to appease the wrathful gods. The people, desperate for salvation, complied with a fervor that bordered on madness. Nearly two hundred thousand animals were slaughtered within three months, their blood staining the altars as the people starved themselves in the name of faith.
But the gods were not the beneficiaries of these offerings. Monty Redstone and his allies had devised a scheme to salt-cure the sacrificial meats and export them to the eastern realms. The furs were sold, and the profits lined the pockets of the elites. The gods, if they even cared, watched in silence as the Drokka bled themselves dry.
Yet Monty’s minions only ramped up their fear-mongering propaganda – for the elites weren’t satisfied with simply stealing their people’s wealth – they wanted their liberties too. The relentless proclamations from Monty network convinced the masses that “Derkka Terrorists” were lurking around every corner, ready to bring Ragnarok to their doorstep. In their desperation for safety, the Drokka were willing to sacrifice anything—everything—to the ruling class in exchange for the illusion of protection.
Civil liberties, long cherished by the mountain clans, were the first to be surrendered. The right to assemble freely was revoked under the guise of “security,” with any gatherings outside of state-sanctioned events being harshly suppressed by the elite-controlled militia. Privacy became a luxury of the past, as the people’s homes were subjected to random searches for Derkka sympathizers, and communications were monitored to root out any dissent. The once-vibrant marketplaces, where Drokka merchants had bartered freely for centuries, now came under strict control, with only government-approved transactions allowed. This, of course, ensured that the elites could dictate prices, hoarding wealth as the common people struggled to afford basic necessities.
But the most grievous loss was the people’s autonomy. Under the guise of “national security,” conscription laws were passed, forcing even the youngest and oldest of the Drokka into ‘public’ service. Those who once prided themselves on their self-sufficiency were now forced into servitude, their lives and labor offered up to the ruling class in exchange for the promise of safety from the Derkka threat. Taxes were levied at unprecedented rates, with the elites justifying this as a necessary measure to fund the coming ‘war of revenge.’ Naturally the Coinmaster and this cabal funneled most of these resources into their own coffers, enriching themselves while the common folk starved.
The Drokka, paralyzed by fear and manipulated by the constant barrage of ‘fake news,’ failed to see that they were not trading their freedom for security, but for chains. The elite’s promises of protection were hollow, their true aim being the consolidation of power and wealth at the expense of those they claimed to defend. The more the people gave up, the more the ruling class took, until the once-mighty Drokka were little more than pawns in a game played by those who had engineered their very fears. The ancient spirit of the Drokka—once defined by resilience and independence—was all but extinguished, threatened to be replaced by a society where obedience and subjugation were the new norms.
The royal family, already shattered by Baldur’s death, was seemingly dealt further blows. Baldur’s grandson Arkan—his secret bastard son with Hecla—died in a suspicious ‘accident’ the same day the towers fell. A month later, Bran, the king’s second-born son, was found dead, his body cold and still, the victim of a silent poison. One by one, the heirs to the throne were picked off, their deaths cloaked in mystery and deceit. The royal line was reduced to ashes, save for Hacktor, Hecla, and their bastard daughter Livy.
For all their suffering, the royals became further beloved by the Drokka commoners – who looked upon the ‘last of the Derkillez’ as brave heroes in the face of tragedy and the popularity of Hacktor and Hecla grew to new heights.
Mirkir was quick to take advantage of this opportunity – wanting to outflank any surprise moves by the other elites, The Wyze One proclaimed a holy war upon the Drokka people, sending proclamations throughout the eight kingdoms. Behind the scenes, The Wyze One played his cards with the elites to lay the groundwork for the future he wanted – promising the powerful families that Hacktor would be their puppet, a king in name only, bound by their will. As a result, the Ruks, Gaatz, Klyntz, and even the Boma’s laid aside their own nefarious machinations and allowed Hacktor’s rise to the throne (which the Busz clanned supported since the Derkillez family was of the Busz line). Together with his General Heraclez to represent the military and Princess Hecla the royal family, Mirkir the Wyze then formally installed Hacktor as the Kon-Herr of the Rhokki’s, the high king of the people.
And so, with the support of the elites, the Drokka religion, the Military, and the trembling populace, Hacktor Derkillez ascended to the throne. But this was not just a Drokka who took the crown—this was Hacktor the Ghastwielder, armed with a magical weapon forged in darkness, his soul tainted by ambition and vengeance.
The transfer of power took six long, grueling months, each day a battle in the shadowy halls of power. But in the end, the coup was complete. Hacktor sat upon the throne, the weight of his new title pressing down upon him like the stones of the mountain itself.
As the kingdom braced itself for what was to come, one thing was certain: the true story was only beginning. The rise of Hacktor the Ghastwielder would mark the dawn of a new era, one forged in blood and betrayal, and the echoes of the Twin Towers’ fall would reverberate through the ages.
Yet while that’s a nice little story, it’s what happened next that really matters…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 