Part XII: The Reckoning
Chapter 2: Legacy of the Freemaker
Timeline AO 301-302
Hacktor Derkillez and the survivors of the landslide were now ensconsed in the ancient kingdom of their ancestors – the legendary Oz – buried in the heart of the mountains. The weight of history pressed upon them as they entered the vast cavern that once echoed with the hammers and voices of the Drokka. For over two centuries, Oz had lain in ruin, its treasures and secrets lost to time after the betrayal that led to King Ajax’s fall. Now, as Hacktor and his followers ventured deeper into the darkened halls, they could feel the presence of their forebears, as if the very stones whispered of forgotten glories.
Although they’d been blessed beyond compare with a visitation with what they thought was their god Rhokki (but was in reality me), after that, reality set in. The first weeks in Oz were soon marked by a mix of despair and discovery. With the passage sealed behind them by the landslide, the Drokka were cut off from the world outside. Although they were mountain people, even till fear soon spread like a contagion among the survivors. The army remained steadfast, but the merchants, their wives, and the servants who’d managed to get inside with the first ranks had now found themselves trapped in what seemed a tomb. Whispers of Hacktor leading them into a death trap began to circulate again, growing louder with each day. Arguments broke out over dwindling supplies, and the grim reality of their situation weighed heavily on all.
“Is this our fate, then?” one of the merchants despaired aloud, his voice echoing through the ancient halls. “To starve here in darkness, surrounded by the ghosts of our ancestors?”
Hacktor silenced the murmurs with a single glare. “We are Drokka,” he declared, his voice like the strike of a hammer on steel. “Oz is not a tomb—it is our rebirth. The gods have not brought us this far to abandon us now.”
To prove his point, Hacktor sent out miners and scouting parties to explore the depths of the mountain kingdom. After the miners had success, what they discovered both inspired awe and deepened the mystery of their past. In the Deepest Depths, where the air was thick with ancient dust, they uncovered the ancient treasure rooms of Ajax the Freemaker, untouched since the days of the Drokka-Derkka Death Wars, more than two centuries past!
The sight that met Hacktor was nothing short of breathtaking—piles of gold and silver, chests brimming with jewels, and relics of untold value that had once adorned the halls of the greatest of Drokka Kon-Herr of The Kroniklz. Among these treasures were weapons and armor crafted by master smiths, their craftsmanship unrivaled even in the present day.
Hacktor stood before a massive statue of Ajax, his expression unreadable as he gazed upon the likeness of the great king. “This is our inheritance,” he said quietly to the men gathered around him. “And it shall be the foundation of our future.”
But the riches of Oz were not enough to sustain the living. The greatest challenge still lay in finding food and resources to keep the survivors alive. I’d already given them the bounty of the gods, but that wasn’t enough for these hard-necked people.
Once more I had to put on the disguise of that oaf Rhokki and calm them down, “Fear not, my children,” Rhokki intoned, my voice echoing through the cavern like a melody from a long-lost song. “Oz is not a place of death, but of life. I have brought you here to reclaim what was once lost. This kingdom shall rise again, more glorious than before.”
Hacktor knelt before me, I could feel his heart swelling with both reverence and gratitude. “Great Rhokki, how can we achieve this? We are few, and our supplies dwindle.”
I smiled as the Drokka god, a gesture that sent a ripple of warmth through the people – it was enough to gag me with a spoon, but I played the part. “I will not let you starve. Behold, the continued bounty of the mountains.” With a wave of my hand, the cavern was suddenly filled with the scent of earth and growth. As I’d done for them before, mushrooms, large and nourishing, sprouted from the ground, and streams of fresh water appeared from the rocks.
The people gasped in amazement at the magic I’d blessed them with, and Hacktor rose, feeling the weight of his burdens lift slightly. “Thank you, Rhokki. We shall honor this gift and rebuild Oz in your name.”
In the months that followed the Drokka set about cultivating the underground farms that would sustain them, and Hacktor turned his attention to restoring the kingdom’s infrastructure. The mines were reopened, and the ancient forges roared back to life, their fires casting a golden glow on the stone walls. Slowly, the sounds of industry returned to Oz, as the people worked tirelessly to rebuild what had been lost.
During this time, Hacktor recognized the need for strong leadership in his absence. Among the many who labored, one name rose unexpectedly to prominence: Gromm Stonefist. Born to a lower class merchant family, Gromm had risen far in Hacktor’s army – because I’d woven the fates in his favor, Gromm was one of the first Ghastwielders and he’d proven his worth to Hacktor many times over in the battles of the past few years.
One evening, as they stood before the newly opened passageways leading to the treasure rooms, Hacktor called Gromm aside. “You have shown great promise, Gromm,” Hacktor said, his tone serious. “I need someone I can trust to oversee the rebuilding of Oz when I return to Rhokki Pass. Someone who understands the value of this place and will protect it with their life.”
Gromm’s eyes widened with both surprise and pride. “You honor me, Kon-Herr. I will not fail you.”
Hacktor placed a heavy hand on Gromm’s shoulder. “I am elevating you to Herr status, Gromm. As Steward of Oz, you will have the authority to make decisions in my name. Rebuild this kingdom, make it strong, and ensure that when I return I’ll bring your family with me and they will be amazed when they see how you’ve helped to make Oz a testament to the strength of our people.”
Gromm bowed deeply, his voice steady. “I swear it, Kon-Herr. Oz will be ready for your return.”
With Gromm appointed as Steward, the work continued with renewed vigor. Over the rest of the year, the Drokka of Oz transformed their underground kingdom into a thriving community. The ancient farms were restored, and new ones were established, ensuring a steady supply of food – relieving me from the burden of having to provide for them.
Eventually the passage to the Drokka Byways was also cleared – that’s when Hacktor began preparations for his journey back to Rhokki Pass. Nearly two years had passed since they’d last seen home, and the king knew the road back to Rhokki Pass would be long, yet Hacktor was eager to return.
Before he departed, Hacktor gathered his people in the great hall of Oz, now restored to some of its former grandeur. “We have reclaimed our heritage,” he declared, his voice ringing out with pride. “Oz stands once more, and it shall be a beacon of our strength. When I return to Rhokki Pass, I will bring with me the glory of our people and the promise of a new era.”
The Drokka cheered, their spirits lifted by Hacktor’s words. As they celebrated, Gromm stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, his thoughts focused on the daunting task ahead. But in his heart, he knew that he was ready. Oz would rise again, and under his stewardship, it would become a kingdom worthy of the legends that surrounded it.
As for Hacktor – he wondered what he’d find when he finally made it back. Would Hecla have managed to survive the wolves that were the wealthy elites or would the Ruks, Klyntyz, and their ilk have taken over. He mused, One thing is for sure, before I ever leave my family again, I’ll wipe the kingdom clean of those swamp creatures once and for all!
The Apocrypha of Azazel 