Part XV: The Coming of the Myz
Chapter 5: Uruk and Sizor
Timeline AO 322
While Hacktor was busy reveling at Rhokki Pass celebrating his victory to reclaim Oz, and getting ready for the next season of warfare in which he foolishly believed he’d finally ‘win’ his war, I was busy laying the groundwork for his next failure.
As I stood in the center of the grand hall at The Cauldon, with the black stone walls around me absorbing the flickering torchlight, I could feel the heavy presence of Gwar before he even entered, the brute’s anger palpable.
Gwar stormed into the room, sending my goblins jumping for cover as his dark eyes blazed with fury. “Skull man, you’ve failed me again. The Myz you gave me took Oz, but then that imp Hacktor—he tore it all away!” Gwar’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. “How am I supposed to lead this war with such pathetic creatures under my command?”
I watched the god of war huff and puff, yet kept my skeletal face the picture of calm. Gwar’s anger was a useful tool, but only if directed properly. “Gwar, my brother, please see the bigger picture. The Myz I gave you the first time around were only the beginning. Don’t you see that I have anticipated this… and I always have a solution. It’s called an upgrade – and I’m already working on it. The seed you provided gave your children their strength, but they will need more intelligence, and well, we both know that’s not your strong suit, eh? But don’t worry, friend, I’ve got you covered. What you desire shall be yours.”
Desperate to get what he wanted and knowing only I could provide it, Gwar’s fury at my insult simmered down to a deep scowl. “Then make them for me, Azazel. Create leaders, and I will crush Hacktor and his forces beneath their boots.”
I nodded slowly, my mind already racing through the possibilities, “You shall have them. Prepare yourself, Gwar. The next phase of this war will begin soon.” And then, unable to resist, I added, “Of course, you could always fight Hacktor yourself if you don’t like my work.”
Gwar’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was a hint of uncertainty beneath the bravado. “I fear nothing,” he snarled. “Hacktor is just a mushroom man, and The Ghast—well, even legends can die.”
“Perhaps. But I see the truth in your eyes, Gwar. You still hesitate. You still wonder if you are truly strong enough to face the dwarf king. But fear not—I have some surprises in store for our enemies, surprises that will tip the scales in our favor.”
Gwar glared at me, his pride wounded, but knowing he needed me he knew better than to challenge me. “Then let us be done with this talk,” he growled. “The time for war is upon us. I will use my Myz to lead the Derkka to victory.”
Later that day I was back in my Life Labs, the hidden chambers deep within the bowels of my fortress wherein I created so many of my secret projects. Here, surrounded by the tools of my dark craft, I’d always felt most at home.
The scent of alchemical reagents filled the air, while the glow of arcane symbols cast eerie shadows across the walls. Upon two massive boards I had my Myz subjects bound and sedated. They were larger than most, their muscles rippling beneath their leathery skin, but they were still just raw material—clay waiting to be molded by my hands.
I let my mind turn over the problem at hand – one I’d been working on for some time – long before that brute demanded them. That Gwar needed leaders for the Myz was obvious and while Garrick’s Babel Derkka would good commanders for goblins, they weren’t suited to lead the evil giants. Perhaps Garrick himself might have been up to the task, but I had The Golden Hand saddled with other distractions. That left a void in command when it came to getting the most out of the Myz.
“What is needed is Myz who are not only strong but also intelligent, cunning.” I talked to myself as I observed what I had to work with. In the past, I’d toyed with the idea of enhancing their physical abilities, but now I knew that alone would not suffice. “No, these creatures need minds that could rival those of the best Drokka commanders. Luckily for them, I can provide just that.”
And so I began the process of giving them what they lacked, my hands moving with a practiced precision. First, I infused the Myz with the essence of ancient warlords—souls I’d had harvested long ago, warriors who had lived and died by the sword, to include even Ajax The Freemaker – the very savior of the Drokka race. As the essence took hold, the sleeping Myz convulsed, their minds expanding as centuries of battle experience flooded their consciousness.
Next, I worked a bit more on their physical forms – because, well why not, right? So I augmented their strength, weaving sinew and muscle with my dark magic, making them faster, stronger, more resilient. But the true masterpiece was in their minds—I carefully spliced in strands of higher intellect, giving them the ability to strategize, to anticipate, to lead.
“That’ll do, Az. That’ll do.” I wiped the blood from my bony fingers as I stepped back from the table to admire my work.
The first of the new commanders I named Uruk – a towering brute, his body a mass of muscle, his eyes glowing with a fierce intelligence. Beside him stood the one I called Sizor – tall like his brother but also leaner, quicker, and no less deadly, his mind sharp as a blade, his movements fluid and precise.
With a cold, satisfied smile, I unbound them. “Rise, Uruk and Sizor, you are the first of your kind, the leaders who will bring terror to our enemies.”
The next day I stood upon the balcony of my fortress, gazing out at the makeshift training grounds in Kra where Gwar was busy training the new crop of myz I’d previously given them – more of the original type, they’d make for good bulk forces in the coming war. A twisted smile crept across my lips as I watched Uruk and Sizor approach the field.
When he saw them Gwar stopped what he was doing and smiled, whilst the the lesser Myz around them stared in jealous awe at the newcomers. For it was immediately clear to all that these were not your average knight, but instead were the embodiment of terror, crafted with the precision of a master sculptor and forged in the fires of my wrath.
Uruk was the first to emerge from the shadows of the training ground below, his massive form casting a long, sinister shadow over the blackened earth.
Uruk was a monstrosity of muscle, standing well over eight feet tall. His skin was a mottled mix of dark grays and blacks, as if the very darkness of the abyss had seeped into his flesh. His eyes were two smoldering embers, glowing with a hatred that had been kindled in the fiery pits of The Cauldon itself. A thick mane of coarse, black hair cascaded down his back, giving him the appearance of some ancient, primal beast.
Sizor followed close behind, a hulking figure in his own right, though slightly smaller than Uruk, but no less terrifying.
Sizor’s skin was the color of dried blood, a deep, sickly crimson that contrasted sharply with the dull black of his armor. His eyes, however, were his most unsettling feature—pale and unblinking, like those of a predator that had spent too long in the darkness.
I watched as Gwar stepped forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “These are the beasts I need,” He said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now, let’s arm them for battle.”
In the weeks that followed, I watched from afar as Gwar pushed Uruk and Sizor to their limits, testing their abilities in every conceivable way on the broken terrain of Kra. The training grounds became a place of blood and sweat, the air filled with the sounds of battle as the new commanders honed their skills with the troops they’d be commanding.
It quickly became apparent that these two Myz commander were everything the god of war had hoped for—and more. Uruk, with his sheer brute strength, was a force of nature, able to crush anything in his path – and he sent more than a few of his myz to their graves during those terrible ‘training’ sessions. Sizor, on the other hand, was the embodiment of deadly precision, his twin blades a blur of lethal motion – and he too killed his fair share of those myz who didn’t measure up.
But it wasn’t just their physical prowess that impressed me. For I could see the cunning in their eyes, the way they anticipated their opponents’ moves, the way they adapted to every challenge and as their creator this was fulfilling to watch.
After a couple weeks, I observed the day when Gwar presented them with their weapons and armor he’d personally crafted for them. After gifting him Uruk and Sizor, I’d also given Gwar access to the weapons forge in The Cauldron. When he was not training his new recruits, the war god spent his time producing a set of arms worthy of his name. I was mildly impressed when he’d showed them off to me a few days ago and I helped him out by imbuing his output with a few magical spells to grace them with the powerful curses of Baal. And now he was ready to present them to his commanders.
The lesser myz gathered around, their dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of jealousy and admiration, as Gwar prepared to bestow his gifts upon his chosen commanders, Uruk and Sizor. Whispers buzzed among the ranks, some marveling at the craftsmanship, while others seethed with envy at Gwar’s favoritism.
Gwar stepped forward, his massive form casting a shadow over the gathered myz. “Uruk,” he began, his voice a deep, resonant growl that commanded attention, “step forward and receive what is yours.”
[I should mention that Gwar spoke to the myz in the language of Gut which was their tongue. It’s a vile, guttural abomination of speech and since you don’t speak it, I will translate it for you].
To Uruk, Gwar gave a set of armor that he’d forged from the bones of fallen giants that were in my bone yard; each piece of the armor adorned with jagged spikes and cruel barbs, designed not just to protect the myz but to maim any foolish enough to get close. Because of my magic, Uruk’s armor seemed almost alive, a second skin that shifted and pulsed with his every movement, as if it too were eager for the bloodshed to come.
“This armor,” Gwar declared, “is filled with rage. With it you will drink the blood of your enemies.”
Uruk grinned, running a hand over the armor’s cruel barbs. “I wear it with pride, War God. Our enemies will know fear.”
The lesser myz exchanged uneasy glances, their jealousy simmering as they watched Uruk don the living armor. They could feel the dark magic radiating from it, a testament to both Gwar’s skill and the magic of my Baal.
Gwar then turned to the massive warhammer he had crafted for Uruk. “And this,” he said, hefting the grotesque weapon with ease, “will bring death.”
Uruk smiled as he hefted the hammer for it looked like it had been torn from the gates of Illusia itself. The head of the hammer was a massive, grotesque skull of a Krangor, its mouth open in a silent scream, and the haft was wrapped in the hide of that long-extinct beast, enchanted to never rot or decay. Because of my magic, with each swing, the hammer would crackle with dark energy, a force of destruction that could shatter stone and bone with equal ease. “With this, I will shatter the bones,” he vowed, his voice filled with murderous intent.
Next, Gwar’s gaze shifted to Sizor, who stepped forward, his eyes narrowed with determination. The war god presented him with armor that was sleek and segmented, more like the carapace of some monstrous insect than the traditional plate mail of mortal warriors. When I first saw the armor a few days ago even I was impressed at the war god’s imagination and I gladly graced that dark steel with infernal runes, each one glowing faintly with a malevolent light, making every wound Sizor would inflict be magnified tenfold.
“This is your second skin,” Gwar said, “You will be both swift and deadly.”
Sizor ran his fingers over the glowing runes, a wicked smile curving his lips. “With this I will become a legend.”
The lesser myz watched with a mix of awe and bitterness as Sizor then received his weapons—a pair of curved swords, their blades serrated and humming with my Baal’s cursed magic. The low, ominous vibration filled the air, setting even the strongest of the myz on edge.
“These swords,” Gwar intoned, “will tear through flesh and soul alike.”
Sizor took the swords, feeling the power thrumming through them. “The flesh of our enemies will be ripped asunder,” he vowed, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
As the presentation concluded, the lesser myz couldn’t help but murmur amongst themselves. Some admired Gwar’s unparalleled skill, their eyes filled with longing to wield such power. Others, however, were consumed by envy, their dark thoughts turning to what they would do to claim such gifts for themselves.
Gwar’s gaze swept over them all, as if he could sense their mixed emotions. A cruel smile played on his lips as he addressed them. “Remember this day,” he growled, “for these are the tools that will bring us victory. But know this—only those who prove themselves worthy will receive such rewards.”
The lesser myz fell silent, their jealousy and admiration temporarily quelled by the war god’s commanding presence. They knew that to cross Gwar was to invite certain death, and none among them were eager to test his wrath against him or his two favorites.
The entire army continued to train in the weeks that followed as Uruk and Sizor learned how to use their weapons and also how to lead their separate forces. Additionally, Gwar trained Uruk to fight from the saddle of a war horse, while he brought in a Babel Derk chariot driver to provide a war vehicle for Sizor to fight from.
Occasionally I watched them all train, and when I did I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. “If nothing else at least the coming war will be entertaining.”
When at last Gwar declared he was ready to release his troops into battle, I took a moment to say my goodbyes to the two Myz commanders. The god of war planned to send each of them to separate locations – Sizor to the fields of Gor and Uruk to harass Oz. Since I’d plan to weave the fates for each of them, I knew I would not be seeing of them again.
When they came to take their leave of me, I was sitting on my throne in The Gallery of Unholy Death. Their armor clanked with a dreadful rhythm as they approached me.. I took a moment to admire my handiwork. They were perfection incarnate, each a towering beast of war, their very presence sure to send shivers down the spines of those Drokka foolish enough to stand against them.
“Uruk, Sizor,” I began, my voice a low, menacing growl as I spoke to them in Gut. “Are you ready to unleash Hell?”
Uruk grinned, revealing rows of sharp, jagged fangs. “My hammer thirsts for blood.”
Sizor merely nodded, his pale eyes gleaming with anticipation.
I allowed myself a rare laugh. “Then you shall have your fill. But remember, this is not just about slaughter. We are here to send a message, to remind the world why they fear the dark.”
Uruk pounded his chest with a massive fist and Sizor hissed, “They will remember us.”
I pointed to the door. “Go now, my beasts of war. Be the fist of Gwar that shows the world the true meaning of terror.”
As they marched out, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. The world below had no idea what was coming for them. Uruk and Sizor were more than just warriors—they were my harbingers of doom, the vanguard of the apocalypse Gwar would unleash – never knowing he was advancing my plans for me.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 