Part XV: The Coming of The Myz
Chapter 8: The Battle of Gor
Timeline AO 323
Having endured weeks of frustrating harassment at the hands of the mzy calvary, Hacktor’s army was beleagured and demoralized. Yet the prospect for a pitched battle bouyed the spirits of everyone among the Drokka – if only because it offered them the chance to put an end to the constant unknown of nighttime terrors and instead engage in the type of fighting they’d also been trained for.
Advance scouts have brought back news to Hacktor of a massive army of Derkk and Myz encamped around the goblin city of Morgush. The king didn’t waste any time in force marching his army there as quickly as possible. They’d arrived the day before and when morning came the command was given to all to make ready for war.
The early morning mist now clung to the ground of Gor’s once lush fields like a shroud, the sun’s rays struggling to break through the thick haze. The air in camp was thick with tension, the quiet before the storm, as the army prepared to fight – the commanders and captains working to make sure their troops were ready.
Surveying the field before him, Hacktor sat atop his war pony, his legendary Helm pulled down to display the face of Rhokki, and with The Ghast gleaming ominously in his grip. Yet, even his confident stance couldn’t hide the surprise he felt when he beheld the enemy ranks – for there, amid the hordes of goblins, countless Myz were arrayed—towering, armored giants with eyes that glowed like embers in a forge. There were more than double the amount of last year, but the king dismissed this – for his eyes now spied king one particular myz who was being driven around in a chariot, “Sizor!” Hacktor snarled. “You won’t escape me today!”
Calming his rage, the Kon-Herr continued to watch the enemy forming their lines so he could set his counter attack. As always the common goblins were the bulk of the troops – mostly infantry, archers, and sacrificial lambs who’d be ground up in the early fighting. The Babel Derk commanders rode their chariots and circled restlessly, their spears gleaming wickedly as they prodded the goblins into ranks. But it was the Myz who would be the more fearsome foe, towering over their goblin allies, their dark armor making them appear as shadows given form. Once again Sizor in his chariot caught Hacktor’s attention – now having time to finally observe him the king noted his unusual armor. He looks like a giant beetle covered in runes, Hacktor frowned. But it’s those curved swords I need to be aware of.
The king’s jaw tightened as he looked away to observe his own troops – it was clear that his soldiers, though brave, were shaken at the surprise sight of so many Myz. Hacktor heard whispers spreading like wildfire among his ranks, with more than a few fearing that Sizor would continue to harass them, whilst others feared that so many Myz would be an impossible task to overcome.
“Rubbish.” Hacktor spat. It’s true that Sizor had caused problems for his army’s advance and the Myz had given him some trouble last year at Oz when he first faced off against them, but the king had learned from his prior encounters. First off he knew that Sizor’s scare tactics were meaningless in a pitched battle. And as for the myz themselves, Hacktor and Fredrik Vendal had spent countless hours honing their strategy. To top it off, his army was also larger than ever. Today, they would not just survive—they would conquer.
He turned to his commanders. “We’ve faced worse odds before, and we’ve always prevailed. Today will be no different. And when I cut off the head of Sizor, we’ll celebrate by raising it on a pike while we toast in his honor later this evening.”
His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was an edge of steel to it that sent a ripple of confidence through his officers. They had seen Hacktor in battle; they had witnessed his prowess with the Ghast, his blade that seemed to hunger for the souls of the damned. If anyone could lead them to victory against such a foe, it was him.
Having discussed with plan in advance with Herr Vendal and the other commanders, Hacktor’s strategy was simple. He knew the Myz were formidable in close combat, their strength and ferocity unmatched, but they were not invincible. Their size and heavy armor made them slow, their movements powerful but predictable. The goblins, while numerous, were weaker, relying on their numbers and the chaos they could create. The Babel Derk commanders with their chariots were a wild card, swift and deadly, but prone to overconfidence and easily baited into traps. As for Sizor, everyone in the army knew the rule – make sure that dreaded terror was funneled to Hacktor so The Ghastwielder could destroy him.
Their plans set, Hacktor divided his forces into three main groups. The first was a line of infantry, a wall of shields, spears, and pseudo-ghasts that would hold the center and absorb the initial charge of goblins in the van and the Myz that would follow. Behind them, archers were positioned to rain arrows upon the enemy, their bows strung and ready – they might not affect the Myz, but they’d wreck havoc on the ill-protected goblins at the front. To the flanks, he stationed his cavalry, mounted Drokka warriors armed with lances and axes, prepared to charge into the fray when the time was right. Lastly, the siege weapons—ballistae and catapults—were set on higher ground, ready to unleash hell upon the enemy ranks – focused on taking out the myz as their primary objective.
“Hold the line,” Hacktor commanded, his voice carrying over the troops who were now in position. “Let them come to us. Archers, keep your eyes on the goblins—cut them down before they get close. Try to separate the the grey giants for the catapults. Infantry, steel yourselves for the charge. Cavalry, be ready to move when I give the signal. And everyone, keep your eye on the Myz in that chariot – try to filter Sizor towards my path. ”
Fredrick Vendal and the other commanders spread these instructions to their troops, trying to give their men the confidence they needed to meet the challenge. They knew the stakes. They had faced death before, and they would face it again today. But they would not go quietly into the night. Not while Hacktor Derkillez stood among them.
Both lines arrayed on the field, it was the enemy who began the first advance – sending an onslaught of poorly armed goblins to try to cause havoc among the Drokka ranks while the Myz followed behind in a methodical march that shook the ground with its weight. While the Babel Derk had to force their underlings to charge under penalty of death (even though they faced certain death as the first to attack), the Myz didn’t care that their opponents held the high ground for they feared nothing. Circling around behind the first charge, was Sizor in his carapace armor who rode in a black chariot – his Babel Derk driver holding the reins and freeing up the knight to wield his swords menacingly towards Hacktor’s lines.
Mounted on his war pony, Hacktor noted all this from his superior position on a hill which faced the battlefield below. His hand rested on the hilt of the Ghast, the blade humming with anticipation, its dark runes glowing faintly. He could feel its power coursing through him, feeding on the tension in the air, the fear and hatred that hung thick over the battlefield. It was a weapon of the gods, forged in the fires of creation, and in his hands, it was a tool of destruction.
“Ready!” The King called out as the enemy broke into a trot at the bottom of the hill. His voice was met with the sound of a thousand shields being raised, a thousand blades being unsheathed.
Now rabid, the goblins in the ban broke into a charge, while the Myz behind them pounded the earth as they surged too forward, their dark armor clanking with each step. The Babel Derk and Sizor, along with the bulk of the army were not far behind – forming a black tide that was now coming for the Drokka.
“Now!” Hacktor bellowed, and the field erupted in a cacophony of sound.
The archers let loose their arrows, a dark cloud that arced through the sky before descending upon the enemy ranks. The goblins screamed as they were cut down, their bodies pierced by the deadly rain. Many of those arrows also found their mark against the Myz too – slipping through the gaps in their armor to strike at the flesh beneath, yet causing little damage to the nigh invincible warriors I’d created.
Siege weapons followed, launching massive bolts and flaming projectiles into the midst of the enemy – focused on the Myz. The ground shook with the impact, and the air was filled with the stench of burning flesh. One or two managed to crush or decapitate a Myz, but for the most part the evil nights pressed forward, their advance up the hill relentless.
Then it was that Hacktor drew the Ghast. “Hold the line!” he roared, and the Drokka infantry braced themselves as the goblins who survived the arrows now slammed into the Drokka’s front lines, while the Myz near the van were closed behind.
The impact was thunderous, the enemy’s initial charge crashing into the Drokka shields with the force of an avalanche. The Drokka warriors staggered but held firm, their spears thrusting out to meet the enemy. Most of the goblins were quickly dispatched – they had inferior weapons, little to no armor, and even poorer skills. But the Myz were a different story – they swung their massive swords, cleaving through shields and armor and causing havoc. The Drokka fought back with a ferocity that matched their foes and so it was that the battlefield became a maelstrom of clashing steel and roaring voices, a brutal contest of strength and will.
Hacktor waded into the fray, always with an eye of where the chariot riding Sizor was at – he wanted to get nearer that nemesis but as yet that wily knight held back. Unable to fight Sizor, Hacktor busied himself with bringing death to any and all who faced him. As always, The Ghast was a blur, its dark edge slicing through armor and flesh as if they were nothing.
[Why didn’t Sizor engage with Hacktor? The fact is that I didn’t want my two pawns to face off just yet so I pulled on the fates in The Eye and kept them apart – if only to draw out the suspense a little for my own enjoyment].
I kept Hacktor busy with some of the more common Myz. The first beast I sent his way swung its sword at the dwarf king’s head with murderous intent, but the skilled Kon-Herr merely ducked under the blow, coming up inside the creature’s guard to drive the Ghast into its chest. The Myz let out a strangled gasp, its life force draining away as the Ghast fed on its soul – for the magic that made the Myz could not stand up to the power of The Ghast.
A bit later I sent another Myz, a hulking brute with a mace, who charged at Hacktor with a bellow of rage. Hacktor met the charge head-on, sidestepping the mace’s crushing blow and bringing the Ghast down on the Myz’s exposed neck. The blade bit deep, severing the creature’s head from its body in a single stroke. Blood sprayed across Hacktor’s armor, but he didn’t pause, his eyes already seeking to find Sizor – but I kept my champion busy elsewhere.
And so the battle raged, the Drokka and their enemies locked in a deadly struggle. More goblins from the main army tried to flank the Drokka lines, but the archers cut them down before they could get close. Those that did make it through were met by Fredrik Vendal’s cavalry, who swept into the fray with a thunderous charge, their lances impaling goblin after goblin.
Overall Hacktor’s strategy was working. The goblins were being decimated by the archers and cavalry, their attempts to outflank the Drokka thwarted at every turn. And the Myz, for all their strength, were being bogged down by poor logistics – for although saavy on paper, Sizor lacked the real world battle experience of Hacktor and Fredrik who had been working together in war for decades. Sensing the battle slipping away from them, Sizor sent the remainder of his forces forward while he led a group of chariots forward himself.
“Archers, on the chariots!” Hacktor commanded when he saw the attack, and the archers turned their attention to the Babel Derk. Arrows flew, striking the chariots and their riders, but still they came, charging through the hail of arrows with terrifying speed.
Amidst the chaos that followed, the figure of Sizor stood out like a demon. Clad in his sleek, segmented carapace armor, which glistened with the malevolent light of infernal runes, he carved a path of new destruction through Hacktor’s ranks and began to turn the tide of war. Riding upon a chariot driven by a Babel Derk, Sizor was free to be a whirlwind of death, his curved swords flashing in the dim light as they rent flesh and bone with ease. The chariot’s spiked wheels churned up the blood-soaked earth, leaving a trail of mangled Drokka bodies in its wake.
Hacktor, caught in the thick of the battle, caught glimpses of Sizor from afar – the Myz’s ruthless efficiency infuriated him, his desire to face the dark warrior growing with each passing moment. But every time Hacktor tried to close the distance, Sizor would dart away, his chariot racing off with unnatural speed. The Babel Derk charioteer seemed to anticipate Hacktor’s movements, steering Sizor just out of reach every time the Drokka king advanced.
As the battle raged on, Hacktor’s frustration mounted. He watched in grim horror as Sizor’s blades danced through his warriors, the cursed iron humming with a low, ominous vibration that seemed to sap the strength of those it touched. The Drokka commanders found themselves faltering under Sizor’s relentless assault – unsure how to overcome it for the speed of the Babel chariots made them difficult to engage long enough to do any real damage.
“Where is that black-hearted demon?” Hacktor snarled, slashing through a goblin that dared to block his path. He could see Sizor in the distance, the Myz’s chariot skirting the edge of the battlefield as if mocking him. But every time Hacktor attempted to charge, a fresh wave of goblins or Myz would rise to intercept him, keeping him from his goal. He knew, deep down, that something—or someone—was preventing him from reaching Sizor, as if the fates themselves conspired to keep them apart.
Sizor, for his part, seemed to relish the carnage he was wreaking. His laughter echoed across the battlefield, a cruel sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened Drokka warriors. With each kill, he grew bolder, his chariot weaving through the melee with deadly precision. He was a force of nature, unstoppable and untouchable, leaving devastation in his wake. [In short he was everything I had created him to be and Gwar watching from his aerie on far away Kagor Island was surely delighted].
The day was waning, yet still the battle raged – the field a chaotic swirl of combat for the exhausted warriors. Knowing he had to take matters into his own hands in order to prevent his troops from cracking, Hacktor signaled to Fredrik and the other commanders to switch to an offensive strategy, “Push forward. Bring the fight to them!”
It was a risky move – by abandoning their superior position on the hill and transitioning from defense to attack, the king was opening his army up for attacks on their now exposed flanks – yet it was a risk The Ghastwielder felt he could overcome by gaining the advantage of downhill force. With a roar, Hacktor led the charge, the Ghast quickly cutting through the enemy ranks. His main lines followed, their war cries echoing across the battlefield as they drove the Myz and their allies backwards down the hill.
Caught by surprise, Sizor’s knights found themselves overwhelmed by the momentum and ferocity of Hacktor and his army. The battlefield, again a maelstrom of clashing steel and bloodshed, began to tilt in favor of the Drokka as Hacktor’s surprise strategy had indeed turned the tide. His forces, bolstered by their initial success pressed forward with renewed vigor.
The fearsome Myz could do nothing to withstand the relentless pressure of the Drokka. As for the common goblins, they were in full retreat, their numbers decimated by the archers and cavalry. The Babel Derk commanders, seeing their forces falter, attempted to regroup, but Hacktor’s troops gave them no quarter.
Then it was that I allowed Sizor to finally get his crack at Hacktor. Raging at the impotence of his army, Sizor seethed at his driver as he pointed at Hacktor, “Take me to him!” Bellowing commands to his Myz as he flew past them towards the Drokka king, Sizor pulled down the visor of his helmet. With swords raised to strike he eyed his enemy – seeing Hacktor charging toward him on his war pony, the myz laughed from his chariot, “Too easy. But I’ll make it hurt.”
Black drool dripping from his maw, Sizor smiled as he met Hacktor’s charge head-on, their blade clashing in a burst of sparks as they careened by one another. The force of the impact reverberated through the air, momentarily stilling the battlefield as the two warriors whirled around to reengage.
Again they met – and again they parried and countered. Both warriors unable to strike their mark. Now in the middle of the field, they met in a third conflict – yet that too came to nothing. Then it was that Hacktor dismounted and taunted Sizor to do the same. By now the other combatants had retreated to their own lines, eager to watch their champions decide the fates of all. Feeling all eyes upon him, Sizor accepted the smaller dwarf’s challenge – it would prove to be a grave mistake.
Although the Myz commander towered over the Drokka, it quickly became clear who was the better fighter. Blow after blow, Hacktor parried and countered, the Ghast striking with uncanny speed against the whirl that was Sizor’s swords. Although he felled more than a hundred Drokka that day already, Sizor’s tally would not reach another mark – for Hacktor was not about to be defeated on this day. The dwarf king’s experience, his sheer will, and the power of the Ghast began to tell – much to Sizor’s surprise.
The Myz raged, going for broke in a twirling attack in which he sought to use his size and strength to overwhelm the smaller Hacktor – yet it was to no avail. With a swift, brutal strike, Hacktor shattered one of Sizor’s sword, the pieces scattering across the blood-soaked ground. The Myz staggered back, his glowing eyes wide with disbelief. But Hacktor did not hesitate – before Sizor could guard himself with his remaining blade, the dwarf king drove the glowing Ghast deep into Sizor’s chest. The dark blade pulsed with energy as it drank in the essence of its foe, Sizor’s body convulsing as his life was torn from him. With a final, anguished scream, the Myz champion fell to the ground, his armor clattering as it hit the earth.
Hacktor immediately chopped the Sizor’s head off and then bellowed out as he held it aloft for all to see. “Who dares to stand up to The Ghastwielder?”
The death of their leader took the heart out of the rest of the enemy ranks – goblins and Myz included. Their troops crumbled into disarray, their lines breaking as the Drokka pressed forward with a vengeance. Hacktor’s soldiers, emboldened by their leader’s display of power, fought with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Axes and swords flashed in the sunlight, and the cries of the dying filled the air as the Drokka army carved a bloody path through the Myz ranks.
The battlefield became a slaughterhouse, the earth soaked with the blood of both sides. Hacktor fought on with a grim determination, his every movement was a blur of speed and power. The Ghast moved as if it had a mind of its own, guiding Hacktor’s hand to strike where the Myz were weakest, feeding on their fear and pain, whilst the rest of the Drokka army overwhelmed the goblins.
As the battle reached a final fevered pitch, Hacktor found himself surrounded by the bodies of the slain. Myz corpses lay in heaps around him, their twisted forms broken and bloodied. The ground was littered with shattered weapons and discarded armor, the remnants of a once-formidable force now reduced to nothing more than carrion.
At last Hacktor stood in the midst of the carnage, his chest heaving with exertion, the Ghast hanging loosely in his blood-slicked hand for there were none left to fight. The dark blade still pulsed with energy, its runes glowing faintly as if it fed on the remnants of the Myz’s souls. Hacktor’s eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for any remaining signs of life, but there were none. The Myz had been utterly vanquished, their dark power broken before the might of the Drokka.
Around him, the Drokka cheered as Sizor’s head was raised on a pike, their voices rising in a victorious chorus that echoed across the battlefield. The Battle of Gor was over!
You’re wondering – did Gwar witness this debacle?
In fact, Gwar saw every minute of Sizor’s rise and fall. From his throne on Kagor Island, the god had been enjoying himself for weeks as Sizor had successfully harassed Hacktor, but during the Battle of Gor the god of war must have realized things were not going to go his way.
When Hacktor felled Sizor, I could see Gwar’s rage all the way up in Kra. “Curse you, Azazel!” Gwar spat as he watched Sizor’s body crumpled to the ground. “This was your doing. Your meddling!”
Gwar’s fists clenched, the bones of his throne creaking under the pressure. He had relished the torment Sizor inflicted on Hacktor, and now that pleasure had been ripped away. The god of war seethed with anger, his thoughts racing. I’m sure he blamed my machinations for ruining his plans, and I wouldn’t doubt that he hated me even more.
But I also knew something else – beneath all Gwar’s fury, I’m certain that a flicker of unease settled in his mind. Hacktor’s unexpected victory versus Gwar’s champion, the tiny dwarf’s unyielding strength… it reminded Gwar of something he had hoped to forget.
“The Ghast,” Gwar whispered, the name like a venom on his tongue. “It is more dangerous than I imagined.”
I could sense Gwar vow that Hacktor would pay for Sizor’s death, but for now, he could do nothing. I knew his frustration gnawed at him, as did the fear—a fear that Hacktor, with the Ghast in hand, might one day become unstoppable.
As for Hacktor – things were going well as he and his troops recovered from battle in a makeshift camp that night. The Kon-Herr knew the war was far from over, and the forces of darkness were still at large. But for now, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He had faced the Myz again, and won – again.
“The legend of Hacktor Derkillez and the Ghast will grow from this.” Fredrick Vendal raised a horn to his king as they sat by the commander’s fire.
“Your name will become a rallying cry for the Drokka in the dark days ahead.” The envoy Hadrik agreed – although he hadn’t taken part in the fighting, he was till part of the king’s advisors and one of the overseers of the supply train.
Hacktor merely grunted as he cast an evil at the bloody visage of Sizor’s head on the pike. Then he turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the moon was casting long shadows across the battlefield. The fight had been hard-fought, but it was far from the last. Hacktor knew that the forces of darkness would regroup, that they would come at him again, stronger and more determined. But he would be ready. With the Ghast at his side and the courage of his people behind him, Hacktor Derkillez would stand against whatever evil came their way.
And he would prevail.
[What Hacktor didn’t know is that was only partially true – as my pawn, his fortune would only hold up for as long as *I* allowed it to…]
The Apocrypha of Azazel 