Part XV: The Coming of The Myz
Chapter 4: Oz has Fallen
Timeline: AO 322
Lounging on my silken pillows, I watched the unfolding drama with the Eye of Seraphiel, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. The events of Gwar’s involvement in the war were playing out like a well-crafted tale, and I was the only one with a front-row seat. I stretched lazily on my bed, one hand fishing for another handful of popped corn kernels, while the other held a goblet filled with the finest blood wine from the new crops in Gor.
“Ah, there’s nothing like a good story with the right snacks.” I sighed.
Little did Hacktor Derkillez first believe that the mighty kingdom of Oz could have fallen so quickly – and that one of his most loyal advocates could be dead.
[Recall that Oz was the first kingdom of the Drokka, founded by Ajax the Freemaker in AO 1. It fell in AO55 when Ajax fell in battle, marking the end of Drokka Purification Wars. For a few decades after that Oz had been changing hands, until eventually the Derkka established the city of Razzyn and took control of the entire area. For more than two centuries after that the Drokka had abandoned this far-away kingdom. But Hacktor and the Ghast had taken it back in AO 301 and the Kon-Herr had installed his underling Gromm Stonefist there as the Steward. Knowing the important historical significance of the Drokka’s original home kingdom, Hacktor had poured resources into Oz to ensure that Gromm would be able to hold the region].
Even though Oz was in the most war-torn locale of all, Gromm had been an excellent Steward – tough, but fair. Once the byways had been opened in AO302, Gromm’s wife and family had moved to Oz to join him – trading in their unprofitable merchant business for the far more lucrative pleasures of living in a palace. Things had gone well for Gromm and all those in Oz. Sure there had been fierce battles to hold the area, but Gromm was one of the pseudo-ghastwielders with a blade made from Hef Fastuz – even though it lacked Hacktor’s magical gifts, it was still a weapon forged by a master and as such Gromm benefited from it in battle. Never had the Derkka goblins really threated Oz under Gromm’s watch. And Hacktor had continually rewarded Gromm for his success.
Gromm, Gromm, Gromm… I mused, swirling the wine in my goblet as I replayed his final moments in my mind. I had to admit, Gromm had been an exceptional Steward – he’d fortified the ancient defenses, crushed any Derkka opposition, and even razed the former goblin stronghold of Razzyn to the ground. His loyalty to Hacktor was unquestionable, and for nearly two decades, Gromm had managed to hold the region, earning the respect and admiration of his people.
But every great story needs a twist, and Gromm’s tale was no different. As much as he’d fortified Oz, as much as he defended it with all his might, the Myz were unlike anything he had faced before.
And now… Oz was a smoking ruin, Gromm’s body likely rotting somewhere under the rubble, and Hacktor—well, Hacktor was at risk of losing more than just a kingdom – and that’s what counts.
I took another sip of wine, savoring the earthly taste. The reports had come in to Rhokki Pass, confirming the disaster, and Hacktor’s generals had no choice but to accept the truth. Oz was in ruins. The mighty kingdom, the original home of the Drokka, had fallen – burned from the inside out by The Myz!
When the Drokka peasants in the other kingdoms heard the terrible news, the common folk, of course, panicked. They feared their towns would be next, and their cries for Hacktor to end the war grew louder with each passing day.
But Hacktor? Oh no, he wouldn’t be swayed by the whims of the people. He was determined to avenge Oz, to reclaim what was lost.
The mighty kingdom of Oz, once a bastion of Drokka strength and pride, now lay in ruins. The Myz had descended upon it with a ferocity that even Gromm Stonefist’s hardened warriors could not withstand. Like shadows in the night, the Myz infiltrated the heart of the mountain kingdom, setting it ablaze from the inside out. The once-impenetrable fortress, with its towering walls and ancient halls, was reduced to a smoldering husk. Flames devoured the rich tapestries, the grand stonework crumbled under the intense heat, and the screams of the dying echoed through the burning corridors. The Myz, their dark magic fueling the inferno, left Oz abandoned, a graveyard of Drokka dreams.
Without hesitation, Hacktor had mobilized his forces, leading them north through the underground Drokka Byways in early AO322. The journey was arduous, but Hacktor’s resolve was unshakable. He would reclaim Oz or die trying.
By the time Hacktor’s army reached Oz, they discovered nothing more than a charred ruin. In spite of the horrors they found, they put aside their emotions and rebuilt what they could. The Drokka are nothing if not tenacious, and under Hacktor’s leadership, they began to restore the kingdom, brick by brick, stone by stone. The fires had taken much, but the spirit of the Drokka endured. Over the remaining winter months, they toiled in the frozen remnants of their once-great city, determined to see it rise again.
As soon as the spring thaws allowed, Hacktor Derkillez emerged from the fortified walls of Oz, leading his army into the heart of the wilderness. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the promise of bloodshed. The Drokka had secretly spent the winter months inside Oz preparing —honing their skills, sharpening their weapons, and reinforcing their armor. As yet, they still believed it was the Derkka, those cursed goblins, who were responsible for the destruction of Oz.
Blinded by his rage and grief, Hacktor led his forces out from the battered remains of Oz, ready to exact vengeance on those he believed had taken everything from him. The truth of the Myz’s involvement was a dark secret waiting to reveal itself in the battles to come – nothing could have truly prepared them for what awaited them beyond the thawing snows.
Hacktor’s army marched with the discipline of seasoned veterans, their ranks moving like a well-oiled machine. The Ghast, his legendary weapon, hung at his side, its dark blade seeming to pulse with anticipation. Legends claimed it was forged by the magic of the gods, and in Hacktor’s hands, it had become a weapon of legend—a blade that had never known defeat. The soldiers followed their Kon-Herr with unwavering loyalty, for they knew that under his command, they had defied death countless times. But today, something was different. The air was charged with a sense of foreboding, as if the very earth beneath their feet trembled in fear of what was to come.
It wasn’t long before the enemy revealed itself. As the Drokka army crested a ridge and came in sight of the former city of Razzyn they were met by a sight that would have shaken a lesser force to its core. The enemy waiting for them were not the Derkka goblins the dwarves had grown accustomed to fighting. For, dotted among their ranks, were over a hundred grey giants that were clearly different from those around them – towering figures clad in dark armor that seemed to drink in the light.
The Myz were creatures out of a nightmare – their eyes glowing with an unnatural fire. They stood twice the height of a Drokka, their muscular frames covered in armor that bore the twisted symbols of their dark gods. From their helmets, horns curved menacingly, and their gauntleted hands gripped sinister weapons—massive, jagged blades that glimmered with a dark energy that sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened soldiers
For a brief moment, the Drokka soldiers faltered. They had fought through the horrors of the Overworld, had faced down beasts and goblins, but the Myz were like nothing they had ever encountered. Their confidence wavered as they stared down at the enemy, the silence of the battlefield broken only by the sound of their own uncertain breathing.
But Hacktor was unmoved. The ever-confident warrior took in the sight of the Myz with a cold, calculating gaze. His hand tightened around the hilt of the Ghast, and he could feel the sword’s eager anticipation, as if it were a living thing craving the taste of Myz blood. He turned to face his men, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
“Steady your nerves, warriors of Rhokki!” Hacktor’s voice rang out, powerful and commanding. “These are no mere goblins, no rabble of the Overworld. These are creatures only Gwar could devise. They stand between us and victory. But know this—we are Drokka! We are the sons of stone and steel, and we will not be cowed by demons!”
The words washed over the soldiers like a wave, rekindling the fire in their hearts. They had fought beside Hacktor in countless battles, had seen him turn the tide of war with nothing but his will and his sword. What were a few more demons to them?
With a roar of approval, the Drokka soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons and braced for the coming clash. Hacktor raised the Ghast high above his head, the dark blade catching the light of the sun and casting an ominous shadow across the valley.
“Prepare for battle!” Hacktor bellowed. “For Rhokki! For Oz!”
The army surged forward, their battle cry echoing off the mountains. But the Myz were ready. They met the Drokka charge with a ferocity that stunned even the most experienced warriors. The first clash of steel against steel was deafening, and the battlefield erupted into chaos.
It didn’t go so well.
Although the dwarves overwhelmed the goblin foe, the Myz in the enemy ranks cut through Hacktor’s army like a scythe through wheat. Their speed and strength were unmatched, and the power behind their weapons was devastating. Drokka soldiers fell by the dozens, their armor shattered, their bodies torn apart by the sheer force of the Myz assault. Blood stained the earth, and the cries of the dying filled the air.
Hacktor fought with a ferocity that matched the Myz blow for blow. The Ghast sang in his hands, its blade moving with a speed and precision that seemed almost unnatural. In spite of their fearsome appearance, Hacktor’s blade cleaved through Myz warriors with the same ease it had felled the goblins, its dark magic feeding on their blood, growing stronger with each kill. But for every Myz that fell, two more seemed to take its place. The battle raged on, and the casualties mounted faster than Hacktor had ever seen.
Yet Hacktor, the ever-confident warrior, took them in stride – for he was not without his own tricks. The Ghast was more than a match for the Myz. Additionally, Hacktor was by now a far more experienced military strategist.
With a roar that echoed across the battlefield, Hacktor led his men in a new counter-attack. Once again the Ghast cleaved through the Myz with deadly precision, and his soldiers, inspired by his bravery, followed suit and eventually Hacktor’s forces won the day!
[I chuckled as the Drokka celebrated this ‘great’ victory – there were only about a hundred myz in the ranks and they nearly lost. How were things going to go when I sent more of those grey giants against them?]
With his enemies retreat, Hacktor felt confident that Oz would remain under Drokka control. The king then installed the now elderly but still hale General Heraclez as the new Kon-Herr of the region — not only putting his most trusted man in this key post but also (finally) paying back his boyhood mentor. After that he returned with a retinue of his guard back to Rhokki Pass.
When he arrived back home, Hacktor and his men were celebrated as heroes. Queen Hecla, ever the shrewd royal, ensured the Coinmaster arranged a grand triumph to recognize their achievements. The streets were lined with cheering crowds, and the air was filled with the scent of roasting meats and the sound of music. Hacktor stood tall, basking in the adoration of his people, and once again promised them that the end of the war was near.
But I knew better.
From my vantage point, I watched the winds of war shift once more. Just a few Myz had proven to be a challenge and that didn’t bode well for the future. As the celebrations continued in Rhokii Pass, I poured myself another goblet of blood wine and leaned back, grinning at the chaos I had sown. The war was far from over, and Hacktor, for all his bluster, was just a pawn in my grand game.
Let him have his victory, I thought with a chuckle. Let him rebuild his precious Oz. It would only make his eventual fall that much sweeter.
And as for the Myz… well, I knew they were just getting started.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 