Part XI: The Heart of Darkness
Chapter 4: Kill Them All
Timeline AO 301
The winter was raging at the Cauldron and I basked in the frigid winds that pummeled the exposed section of my palace on the outer ring of the volcano that was my stronghold. I knew the winter was also harsh for Hacktor and his people inside The Rhokki’s too, yet I didn’t let is last forever…
As soon as the first news arrived that the roads were passable, King Hacktor made ready to a large army out of Rhokki Pass. The young leader was eager to know what had become of General Heraclez and his men, who had not returned from the garrison at Lubbuk. This time, Hacktor was determined to bring the war to the Derkka with a new ferocity. It also helped that his mind was at ease because of some positive things that had recently occurred.
To begin with, Malchoir Der Naves had uncovered the sinister plot against the queen. Although a member of the cabal, Malchior was more aligned with Mirkir’s mission than that of Rukstinz, Gaatz, and their ilk. As the queen’s personal pastor at the palace, Malchior had noticed Hecla’s slow decline and suspected foul play. After notifying Mirkir, the Naves’ network of spies discovered that Hecla’s herbalist had been secretly working with Duktyr Fowzci to slowly poison the queen. Malchoir revealed as much to Hacktor.
The queen, once vibrant and full of life, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self, and the king was easily persuaded to believe the priest’s words – and then determined to exact revenge. Hacktor ordered the immediate arrest of the Hecla’s herbalist. The medic was tortured and made to confess every detail of the plot, revealing Duktyr’s involvement. Yet despite the confession, Duktyr remained elusive, hidden away by his powerful allies within the elite cabal that had been manipulating events from the shadows – unknown to Malchoir or Mirkir either. Even a kingdom-wide search yielded no results, fueling Hacktor’s frustration.
Unable to lay hands on Duktyr, Hacktor turned his wrath upon the herbalist. The man was executed in a gruesome public spectacle, his body quartered and displayed at the gates of Rhokki Pass as a warning to others. The message was clear: betrayal would not be tolerated, and those who dared to harm the royal family would face a fate worse than death.
Meanwhile, Hecla was young and once the poisons were taken away from her daily regimen she recovered from both her physical and mental pains. Her brush with death had given her a new sense of purpose. Grateful to be alive, she was also more aware of the great game of the cabal—those she had once trusted, those she had helped to take out her father, had now turned against her. With this knowledge, Hecla became more ruthless herself. She vowed to use her wiles and newfound cunning to destroy every last conspirator against her, biding her time until she could strike.
As Hacktor made ready to leave, Hecla took the reins of command that were her royal right. The power Monty had usurped during her illness was swiftly wrested back into her hands. The Coinmaster graciously abdicated his stewardship to appease the royals, but as the fat merchant had already laid a slew of covert plans to further the agenda of the cabal he served, Monty didn’t mind making Hecla feel important again.
With the kingdom thus secured, Hacktor left for to make war once again.
Although still young, the king was starting to realize that he was naive to ever believe he could have completed his war using the tactics he’d started with and during the journey to the World Above he oft derided himself for wasting so much time the past couple years in wandering around hoping to find Derkka kings to fight pitched battles against.
It’ll be different this year. Hacktor repeatedly reminded himself. The Great Spirit has given me the solution – I shall cleave a path of destruction all the way to Oz, retake that kingdom, and write my names amongst the stars!
Just like the growing size of Hacktor’s goals, so too did his army expand. He’d begun his war with just a few hundred infantry and a small wagon train. Last year a successful kingdom-wide muster had given him control of an army 20,000 strong – with more than a thousand mounted on ponies. And now, in the third year, his forces had become a formidable war machine – with more than half the troops on mounts. The army consisted not only of infantry but also of more heavily armored Drokka knights on war ponies, archers armed with powerful longbows, a new cavalry unit, sappers, and a cadre of siege engineers ready to breach any fortress that stood in their way.
The wagon train had also expanded, becoming a mobile fortress of sorts, with entire sections dedicated to weapons, supplies, extra ponies, and even luxuries to keep the troops motivated. Monty, ever the opportunist, took full advantage of the situation, ensuring that every soldier’s craving for comfort came at a price, a price that lined his already overflowing coffers. The merchants within the train were charging exorbitant fees for even the most basic of goods, making Monty and his backers richer with each passing day.
Adding to the morale of the troops was the creation of more fake Ghasts by Hef Fastuz. These non-magical imitations of the mystical weapon were distributed among Hacktor’s most loyal officers, who in turn showcased them to inspire their men. The sight of these ghasts, glowing with an unnatural light, emboldened the soldiers, making them believe they were wielding the power of the gods themselves. Hacktor knew these fake Ghasts were nothing more than toys, but he also knew the power of belief. The mere sight of the replicas was enough to make his soldiers believe they were invincible and that’s what mattered.
In spite of these positives, the journey itself was at first problematic – when the king’s forces passed The Siq it became evident that they’d attempted travel too soon – for the snows were still melting in the mountains and any bit of heat caused the frozen ground to flow in rivulets, turning the roads to mud or washing them out completely – making the passing impossible for the ponies and wagons. The king’s army was often forced to camp for numerous days as they waited for the ground to harden and they frequently had to repair roads so the wagons and mounts wouldn’t sink in the muck. To make matters worse, when they came to the ford where they planned to cross Blackwoods River the waters were so high they had to wait for a half a fortnight for the swells to drop. These delays only further raised the king’s ire.
Finally, more than a month into AO 301, Hacktor and his men returned to their garrison at Lubbuk where the king was pleasantly surprised to see that General Heraclez and his men were still intact. Although the king was initially going to call for a grand celebration to honor the old general and his men, one look at the garrison made Hacktor realize that Heraclez and his troops had enjoyed more than enough celebration already – the outpost walls weren’t manned, rubbish and arms were strewn everywhere, the overflowing latrines were steaming with filth, and even the ponies were gone! On top of all that the men were drunk and languishing about amidst countless empty barrels of gozaka. General Heraclez, once a proud and disciplined leader, was a shadow of his former self.
“I don’t even want to know how long you’ve been in your cups,” Hacktor berated his mentor in the privacy of his tent. “Just tell me if you fought any battles this winter.”
“N-n-none, s-sire,” Heraclez stammered, struggling to sober himself. “W-we’ve held the territory with an i-iron fist.”
“You’re lucky I’m not The Marduk. You wouldn’t have escaped this time around, fool.”
Heraclez tried to explain that drinking was the only way to keep the men’s minds off the Deepening Dread, the insidious fear that gnawed at them from living so far from their caves. Although Hacktor knew his mentor was exaggerating, he couldn’t deny that the garrison troops looked haggard and worn. Heraclez suggested holding a grand celebration to honor the men before sending them back to Rhokki Pass for much-needed rest and recovery.
“You’ll get your wish,” Hacktor smirked. “Or at least part of it. I can’t have your men bringing down the spirits of the rest of the army, so you’re going home—but it’ll be immediately and without any party. Pack your stuff and get out of my camp today!”
Heraclez was disappointed to miss out on the opportunity to carouse – especially since he knew the new arrived wagon train was well stocked with gozaka, but he knew better than to argue with Hacktor, so he quickly got his men together and they were prepared to leave by the end of the day. Meanwhile, the Kon Herr took the opportunity to use Heraclez’s departure as a way to inspire the newly arrived troops – making a show of praising the departing men and offering all of them a rank increase when he next met them. The fresh recruits witnessed Hacktor’s generosity and happily (and foolishly) assumed they’d all get the same after this season’s fighting was done.
After a day’s rest at Lubbuk, Hacktor was ready to move forward with his plans. The true objective of the campaign was still a closely guarded secret, known only to him; he intended to take his army all the way to Oz and reclaim the kingdom for his people, but he kept that information to himself for now. Instead, he called his captains to a council around the campfire and shared a new directive.
“We’ve been too kind to our enemies thus far,” Hacktor began, stoking the fire with a poker. “Tell the men that, going forward, we kill every goblin we see.”
One of the younger captains hesitated. “You mean all the men, right, lord? Old and young?”
“I mean what I said—we will kill every last Derkka we encounter this year. Man, woman, or child, young, old, fat, skinny, bowlegged, red, black, blue, I don’t care! Do with them whatever you like before you destroy them, but destroy them all you shall. Why? Because our Lord Rhokki has told us The Ragnarok cannot arrive until we exterminate our enemies, and we can’t very well do that if we leave their women and children alive to breed.”
The captains exchanged uneasy glances, but Hacktor’s eyes blazed with a fervor that brooked no argument. “The same goes for the villages. I won’t consider your efforts a victory unless you destroy every building and farm. After we conquer an area, we leave only land and water behind—everything else must be burned to the ground. This is what The Spirit of The Well has advised me, and this is what we shall do!”
Although the generals were initially hesitant about the brutal orders, it didn’t take long for Hacktor’s troops to embrace the king’s ruthless strategy. The atrocities committed in the name of conquest began to pile up, each more horrific than the last – rape, pillage, victim torture, even pulling goblin babies apart limb by limb, all this and more occurred as the Kon-Herr’s forces quickly devolved into war crime atrocities beyond description – for with the rules of engagement completely abandoned and their leader driving them on to ‘destroy every living thing’ the Drokka army’s bloodlust boiled over and their mercy vanished as they descended into the Heart of Darkness that is War.
And it was a beautiful thing…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 