Part XII: The Reckoning
Chapter 7: The Fury
Timeline: AO 303 – Mining Day, AO 304
The warmth of the bedchamber enveloped Hacktor and Hecla as they lay entwined beneath the heavy furs. The flickering light from the hearth bathed the room in a soft glow, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Hacktor felt at peace. He traced the curve of Hecla’s back with his calloused hand, his touch gentle, as if afraid she might disappear if he pressed too hard.
Hecla nestled closer to him, her breath warm against his chest. “I missed you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with relief and weariness.
Hacktor pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m here now, my love.”
For a moment, they lay in silence, savoring the closeness they had been denied for so long. But Hacktor could sense an unease in Hecla, a tension in her body that belied her contentment.
“Hecla, what is it? What troubles you?”
She hesitated, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “While you were gone, Hacktor, things grew… difficult. The council—no, the entire kingdom—was thrown into chaos. Aric, Chaney, Fukbyl, and the others—they conspired against me. They wanted to usurp my power, to declare you dead and marry me off to one of their own!”
Hacktor’s jaw tightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “They dared to plot against our family?”
Hecla nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “They tried to weaken our rule, to take what we’ve built and twist it for their own gain. I held them off as best I could…”
Hacktor’s grip on her tightened, a surge of protectiveness washing over him. “I’ll make them pay for this, Hecla. Every last one of them will suffer for what they’ve done.”
Hecla looked up at him, “Just promise me you’ll stay safe, Hacktor. We’ve been through so much—I can’t bear to lose you again.”
He stroked her hair, his expression softening. “I promise, Hecla. But first, I’ll make things right. I’ll restore order to this kingdom and make sure those who wronged us are brought to justice.”
Before the king could clean house, Hacktor and Hecla granted an ‘urgent’ request for an audience with them from their Coinmaster.
Monty Redstone hadn’t risen from his lowly station in life to his current role without becoming adept at reading the shifting tides of power and adjusting his sails accordingly. When he got wind that Hacktor was going to unleash his wrath upon the elites, Monty knew desperate times called for desperate measures.
Wearing muted colors that were unusual for him, but which served to ‘slim’ is jelly-like body, the saavy financier had also tamed his red hair and beard. He approached the royal couple with a carefully measured humility, bowing low before speaking. “My king, my queen, I have served the Derkillez crown faithfully for decades, through both peace and war. I have always placed the interests of this great kingdom above all else, and during your absence, Hacktor, I did my utmost to support Queen Hecla in every way I could.”
The king and queen listened as Monty played the part of the loyal advisor, using this words to subtly distance himself from the likes of Chaney, Aric, Fukbyl and the rest – all while feigning ignorance of their more treacherous deeds. At last, sweating profusely, the desperate politician made his play, “As your most trusted servant, I have always come to you with news. Today is now different. My network of spies – which solely exist to protect YOUR interests – have brought me urgent information that you must hear. It has come to my attention that certain factions within our ranks have betrayed the trust of the crown! It pains me to say it but your enemies are conspiring against the very foundation of our realm. These cursed dissidents have sought to undermine your rule, and although they are among the wealthiest Drokka in our kingdom, it is my duty to inform you of their treachery.”
Hacktor’s gaze hardened as he listened, but Monty pressed ahead, sensing the need to solidify his position and knowing he could not turn back down. “I have gathered evidence, my lord, that is indisputable proof of their crimes against you. What I know will not only confirm their guilt but will also allow us to purge this kingdom of their corruption once and for all. Picture it, great Hacktor, your men can root out the traitors and then my team and I can help you cleanup of our beloved Rhokki Pass and quickly rebuild what has been lost.”
“And why should I trust you, Monty?” Hacktor’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes fixed on the Coinmaster. “You speak of loyalty, but loyalty can be bought, can it not?”
Monty did not flinch. “My lord, I am indeed loyal to you – for I have no desire for power beyond what is necessary to serve you and the queen. My only ambition is to see this kingdom restored to its former glory. I offer you my knowledge and my experience, and in return, I ask only for the chance to continue to prove I am worthy to be your servant.”
Hacktor exchanged a glance with Hecla, who remained silent, her expression unreadable. After a tense moment, Hacktor gave a slow nod. “Very well, Monty. You will have your chance. But know this—if I find even a hint of betrayal in your actions, you will suffer the same fate as those you condemn.”
Monty bowed again, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Of course, my lord. I live only to serve.”
With that, Monty had secured his place, offering up the heads of those who had conspired against Hecla as proof of his loyalty. His cunning and willingness to sacrifice others for his own survival ensured that Hacktor saw him not as a threat, but as a necessary ally in restoring order—at least for now. He knew that his survival depended on remaining useful, and so he walked the fine line between loyalty and self-preservation with practiced ease, ever vigilant, and most importantly ever ready to adapt to the next inevitable shift in power.
The next day the council chamber was filled with a heavy tension as Hacktor Derkillez stormed through the doors, his presence commanding and his anger palpable. Three elites had gathered there—Chaney Busz, Byryk Boma, and Hylra Klynz – all of them having conspired against the royal family. They hifted nervously in their seats as the king entered for they had been expecting Hacktor’s wrath, but the intensity of his very apparent fury was beyond anything they had anticipated.
Frederick Vendal and General Haraclez flanked Hacktor, their faces grim as they stood by, ready to do what needed to be done.
“Listen well,” Hacktor’s voice boomed through the chamber. “I have have looked the other way when your families robbed this kingdom blind – as your clans have done for centuries. But you thought you could betray my family, undermine my rule, and get away with it? You thought I wouldn’t return, that you could do as you pleased in my absence. But you were wrong—dead wrong.”
Whilst Lord Aric was curiously absent, the elderly ex-Kon-Herr of Gaza Byryk Boma tried to show strength against the Kon-Herr’s verbal abused, attempting to position himself as the leader of those gathered around him. “What’s done is done.” He sighed, feigning no concern.
“Well said.” Hacktor ominously agreed. “And now there will be consequences. And you will all face them.” One by one, Hacktor began naming the traitors, his voice cold and unyielding. “That includes Chaney, Hylra, Byl, Ly’Mala, and the rest of your lot—you all conspired against me. You all sought to strip my wife of her power, to weaken our kingdom for your own gain. But now, you’ll pay the price. As will Fukbyl when I track him down. Even Lord Aric and his father will suffer my wrath – for I don’t fear the Rukstinz no matter how much wealth they have. What matters coin to me when I have the power of The Ghast? “
The trio of conspirators looked at one another, nodding and smiling, sure that the king was all bark and no bite. As the conspicuously missing Aric Rukstinz had assured them prior to encouraging the rest of them to attend this meeting, Hacktor might try to injure them economically, take back some land or resource claims, perhaps even briefly try to throw them in jail – but it was nothing they couldn’t quickly recover from. And Aric promised that his clan would partner with them to most certainly turn the tables on the foolish blowhard who dared to threaten them.
“Do what you feel is best.” The rotund Drokkina Hylra snickered. “We fear no one.”
“Let’s make this quick please.” The elderly Chaney frowned at the young king. “I’ve got other appointments to attend to.”
The king nodded his head, saving the fact that these ingrates had no idea what was in store for them. he turned to Frederick and Haraclez. “Take them! Let their be weeping and gnashing of teeth among their clans. Mingle their blood with their tears and do it NOW!”
The room erupted into chaos as the military men moved to carry out Hacktor’s incredible orders. The shocked traitors quickly forgot their elite status and fell to their knees pleading for mercy – but there would be none.
The cleansing of the murderous clans had begun, and Hacktor would see to it that justice was served. A era had begun…
Although Hacktor chose to spare his clanmate Chaney Busz (banishing him to Kel-de-Kaba), others were not so lucky. Hylra Klyntz, Byryk Boma were murdered at the meeting where Hacktor took his revenge. Next followed Fukbyl’s father Hyn Gaatz, Mykk Boma, Byl Klyntz, and any other elders or bigwigs in the various clans who the king despised – even some of the Kyndyz were murdered despite their never being much proof of their role in any plots against the crown. Yet the Rukstinz leadership and the cursed Fukbyl Gaatz and his minion Duktyr Fowczi had all somehow managed to evade capture. Worse yet, Fukbyl’s plandemic was still causing problems in the kingdom – further exasperating the king’s wrath.
Concerns about the plague outbreak lasted for weeks, but General Heraclez and Fredrik Vendal had sent troops in all directions to search for the criminals and eventually their luck ran out. While there was no sign of the Rukstinz, word about Fukbyl and his herbalist poured in. Eventually there were tracked all the way to a remote cave near a Qzar farm in Duzarez. There Fukbyl and Duktyr were arrested and ignominiously hauled back to Rhokki Pass for Hacktor take his revenge.
Before questioning them, the king had allowed them to be tortured and when he finally graced them with a visit Hacktor was pleased to see their faces bloodied and their bodies broken from the abuse they had endured.
The Kon-Herr loomed over the two Drokka who he considered the essence of evil and cowardice and his eyes were filled with contempt. “You thought you could escape my wrath? Thought you could hide from the consequences of your treachery?”
Fukbyl groaned, his bulbous belly torn and cut; he was barely able to lift his head. “Please… mercy…”
“Mercy?” Hacktor scoffed. “You showed none to my family, to my kingdom. Why should I show you any?”
The diminutive rat-like dwarf that was Duktyr trembled with fear, yet he grasped at straws to try to save himself. “The Quvid… it can be stopped. Destroy the Qzar ‘shroom farms, burn all the Quvid herbs.”
“Yes, yes, there is still time.” Fukbyl chimed in eagerly. “We can help you, Hacktor.”
Hacktor’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I believe you?”
“Because… it’s the truth,” Duktyr gasped. “Without the ‘shrooms and herbs, the plague… it will run its course, but it won’t spread anymore.”
“And your people… they’ll be free of it.” Fukbyl pleaded.
Hacktor considered the broken men before him, his anger still simmering. “Do as they say,” he ordered his men. “Destroy the Qzar farms, burn the herbs.”
The captives let out sighs of relief, believing they were safe, yet Hacktor quickly quashed that thought, “Save two of the killer ‘shrooms and herbs and feed them to these fools. Let them suffer from the evil of their own designs!”
Duktyr cried out in anguish while Fukbyl’s eyes were wide with terror as Hacktor stepped away, leaving them to contemplate their fates.
But what of the Ruks?
While all the other elites met their demise at Hacktor’s ruthless hands, Lord Aric Rukstinz and his father, Thane, were notably absent from that infamous meeting where their fellow members of the oligarcy had been decimated. Unknown to Hacktor, Aric and Thane had received an advanced warning from a secret ‘leak’—none other than Monty, the ever-cunning Coinmaster. Monty, ever aware of which way the wind blew, saw an opportunity to secure favor with the powerful Ruks – the wealthiest and most powerful clan of Drokka that ever existed. Knowing that the Derkillez reign was tenuous, The Coinmaster felt it wise to play both sides of the fence – therefore, while he happily served up the rest of the cabal, Monty did his part to help the Ruks escape Hacktor’s wrath.
The reward the obese financier received for his ‘service’ was nothing short of extravagant, ensuring Monty’s continued prosperity and survival in the shifting sands of the kingdom. And thanks to Monty’s timely tip-off, Lord Aric and Thane were able to escape the night before Hacktor’s men stormed the council chamber. When the bloodletting began, they were already far from Rhokki Pass, leaving their less fortunate peers to face Hacktor’s wrath.
Afterwards, when Hacktor unleashed his troops to scour the kingdom for the elusive Ruks, even the most diligent searches proved futile. Despite Hacktor’s fury, the Ruks were simply too powerful, too deeply entrenched in the land’s very fabric to be easily uprooted, and able to pay such enormous bribes to make their escape that those searching for them had no realistic chance of finding them. Their influence stretched not just through all eight kingdoms of The Rhokki’s but west to Gor and east all the way to the distant Akka Mountains. The wealth they had accumulated over generations, through the control of critical resources and strategic lands, made them in fact untouchable.
Lord Thane found refuge among the Derkka – gladly welcomed by The Marduk and given an estate in the wealthiest section of Babel, where even Hacktor’s reach could not extend. Meanwhile, Lord Aric secreted himself in the far away kingdom of Akka Mountains, where the Rukstinz name commanded respect and fear in equal measure. From these strongholds, the Ruks maintained control over their vast estates, ensuring their influence in Rhokki Pass remained intact despite Hacktor’s best efforts to uproot them.
In their absence, the Ruks left behind trusted pawns to manage their estates and protect their interests within the kingdom – among them Monty Redstone. These agents continued to conspire against Hacktor, biding their time, waiting for the moment when the tides of fortune would once again turn in their favor. The Ruks were patient, knowing that power in the kingdom was always in flux. They would remain in the shadows, ready to return and reclaim their place at the helm of the kingdom once Hacktor was removed from power.
Monty, for his part, thrived under the new order, his hands stained with the blood of those he had betrayed but his coffers filled with the gold of those he had saved. He walked a fine line, navigating the dangerous waters of Hacktor’s court with a skill that few could match. For now, he was content to watch and wait, ever the survivor, ever the opportunist.
By the end of the year, AO 303, Hacktor had restored order to the kingdom. The Qzar ‘shroom farms were destroyed, the Quvid herbs burned, and the Zarz plague began to fade from the land. The people, once sick and despairing, began to recover, and with their recovery came a renewed sense of hope. Better yet, the traitorous families, which had plagued the people for centuries had seen their leadership destroyed and their influence blunted. With Ruks seemingly disbanded, only the Naves remained with some power – Mirkir, Malchior, and their priests remained the driving force behind the religion of the kingdom and were believed to be useful to Hacktor’s mission.
Most importantly, no longer was there any question – the singular power now lay with the King and Queen – Hacktor and Hecla. And a fitting testament to their reign was a blessing that came upon the royal couple in the late fall…
Unlike the violence that marked most of the year, the crisp autumn air in the tunnels of Rhokki Pass carried with it a buzz of excitement towards the end of AO 303. Throughout the streets of the capital, banners bearing the sigil of the royal house – the Ghast of Derkillez – fluttered proudly, and the people of Rhokki bustled with a rare energy. For this was no ordinary day. The long-awaited birth of Hacktor and Hecla’s first child born in wedlock was imminent, and the entire kingdom had been holding its breath.
Inside the royal palace, the atmosphere was tense, but the excitement was palpable. The grand hall was filled with members of the court, noble families, and high-ranking officials, all gathered to await news of the royal birth. Monty stood near a roaring fire, his eyes ever-watchful. The rotund master of propaganda had spent weeks ensuring that the city’s celebrations would go smoothly. Everything from the taverns to the temple bells had been meticulously coordinated for this moment.
At the head of the hall, the faces of men like Mirkir the Wyze, and Malchior der Naves, lingered in the background, their presence a reminder that opportunity was in the air. Countless others wandered to and fro, eager for news. Then, as the tension reached its peak, the door to the royal chambers opened. A royal midwife, her face flushed with excitement, stepped forward.
“The prince is born!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the hall.
A wave of cheers erupted, the sound filling every corner of the palace. Hacktor, who had been pacing the corridors near the birthing room, rushed inside, his heart pounding with anticipation. His seven year old daughter Livy (the ‘unofficial’ child of the twins prior to their marriage), eagerly followed after her father. There, in the soft glow of the chamber’s hearth, Hecla lay resting, her face glowing with the aftermath of labor. In her arms, wrapped in royal silks, was the newborn prince.
As Livy rushed to her mother’s side to see her brother, Hacktor, the mighty warrior and king, felt a rare moment of vulnerability as he approached. His gaze softened as he looked down at his son—the boy who would carry on his name, his blood, and the future of the kingdom. He knelt beside the bed, his rough hand gently brushing against the soft, delicate cheek of his newborn child.
“He’s beautiful,” Hacktor whispered, his voice filled with awe.
Hecla, exhausted but smiling, nodded. “Our Uria,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “He will be great.”
In the hallway, as the news spread, the courtiers and politicians moved to offer their congratulations to each other.
“A fine beginning,” Monty murmured. “But let’s not forget that the birth is only the first chapter. The real work begins now.”
Mirkir smirked. “Indeed. The boy will need guidance.”
The night stretched on, with the palace erupting in festivities. Bells tolled in the distance, marking the birth of Uria Derkillez, the heir apparent of Rhokki, and the streets filled with celebration. But even as the city rejoiced, shadows lurked, and not all in the kingdom welcomed the new prince with joy. Plans were already being whispered among the conspirators, for in the coming years, this birth would shape the fate of many – but those days were, as yet, far away.
Yet more happiness was in store for the royals when they welcomed the first day of the new year. Mining Day – spent at home this year for Hacktor and Hecla – was extra special for them this time around. Besides remembering Ajax The Freemaker and celebrating Mining Day at the Temple of Rhokki Pass where The First Servant Malchior der Naves led a grand ceremony, this year, AO 304, carried an even greater significance for the king and queen – for upon this day young Uria, now just over three months old, would be formally named the heir to the throne.
After the church service, the festivities moved to the palace which had already been meticulously prepared for the occasion. Large blackwood banners with silver inlays adorned the great hall, and the floor was covered with furs to stave off the winter cold. The elite of the kingdom had gathered in their finest attire, all eyes fixed on the ceremony that would seal Uria’s place in history.
In the center of the hall, Hacktor stood tall and proud, holding his infant son high above the assembled crowd. His face was a mask of strength and confidence, but inside, a rare warmth bubbled. His son, his future, was before him—a beacon of hope in a world of endless wars.
Hecla stood beside him, regal and composed. Though her eyes sparkled with pride, there was something distant about her, as if part of her mind had already begun to drift elsewhere. Perhaps it was exhaustion from her role as queen, or perhaps something deeper, but for this moment, all eyes were on her son.
Before them, Monty and countless courtiers had gathered to observe the proceedings, their faces betraying nothing but formality. Then it was that Malchior began the ceremony.
“The son of Hacktor Derkillez and Hecla, born of royal blood and of noble birthright,” Malchoir Der Naves intoned to the crowd. His voice was deep, reverberating throughout the hall. “By the power of the gods, and by the strength of the blackwood, I name thee Uria, heir to Rhokki’s throne.”
A loud cheer erupted, and the horns blared across the hall. Uria, wide-eyed and unaware of the importance of the moment, squirmed in his father’s arms, but Hacktor held him proudly before handing the boy to his mother, smiling for what seemed like the first time in years. With the queen on one side holding Uria and his daughter Livy on the other, King Hacktor stood on the grand dais holding The Ghast on high, his armor gleaming in the torchlight, his presence a symbol of strength and resilience. He looked out over the sea of faces, seeing the hope and gratitude in their eyes. It was a moment of triumph, a moment when Hacktor felt truly invincible!
Outside the palace, the streets were filled with cheers for the entire royal family, as the people proclaimed their love. The merchants, miners, laborers, and the rest of the common folk—all came Drokka together to celebrate the Kon-Herr who had saved them from the brink of ruin and the new prince.
It seemed the kingdom was united in celebration. The birth of Uria had solidified Hacktor’s reign, and the new year had begun with a new hope. Little did they know, this hope was to bought with a secret price.
Later that night, Hacktor and Hecla lay together in their bed, the echoes of the celebration still ringing in their ears. Uria was sleeping in a crib nearby while Hecla rested her head on Hacktor’s chest, her fingers tracing the scars that marked his body.
“Our son is beautiful and you’re a hero, Hacktor,” she murmured. “The people adore you, and I… I’m so proud of you.”
Hacktor smiled, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Uria will become a legend in his own time. As for me I did what needed to be done. But there’s still so much more to do.”
Hecla looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and concern. “I know that look, Hacktor. You’re not thinking of staying, are you?”
Hacktor sighed, his gaze distant. “The war never ends, Hecla. Our god Rhokki requires we exterminate The Derkka – that has not yet occurred. Hef Fastuz has delivered more pseudo-ghasts to arm our troops, and the generals are already questioning when the next campaign will begin.”
Hecla’s heart sank, but she forced a smile. “Must it be so soon? Can’t you stay just a little longer? What of Uria – he needs you.”
Hacktor looked down at her, “Uria will have his fill of me over the years to come. But I was born for war, for the glory of battle. Come spring, I’ll be leaving again.”
Hecla closed her eyes, holding him tightly, unable to speak – knowing the peace they had briefly found was fleeting.
[Sorry, Hecla, you know I’ve always loved you, but I still had plans for Hacktor and there were only just beginning…]
The Apocrypha of Azazel 