Part XV: The Coming of the Myz
Chapter 10 – Uruk’s Revenge
Timeline AO 323
The commanders of Hacktor’s cavalry quickly organized their troops into battle formations – this was done under the cover of the hills that separated them from the view of their enemy that was sacking Oz. As the riders waited, the tension was palpable, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. Hacktor dismounted before his warriors, drawing The Ghast, and raised it high for all to see. The blade seemed to absorb the light around it, pulsing with a dark energy that resonated with the warriors’ battle-hardened hearts.
“Brothers!” Hacktor’s voice hissed – aiming to inspire the men and hoping they were far enough away that it wouldn’t carry to the enemy. “Oz is under siege! Our kin are trapped inside, and every moment we delay brings them closer to death. We are outnumbered, but we are Drokka! We are the sons of the mountain, the blood of Rhokki flows in our veins! This battle will not be easy, but we have faced worse and emerged victorious!”
The commanders passed the Kon-Herr’s words along so that could hear and the spirits of the Drokka lifted with every word from their king. Hacktor thus continued, his voice fierce with resolve. “We will strike at the heart of the enemy! We will break their lines, shatter their siege, and rescue our brothers! We ride for Oz, we ride for Heraclez, we ride for Kalypzo and Rhokki, and all our people!”
With that, Hacktor leaped back onto his pony and led the way along the road the dove into the valley. Under the cover of trees they continued their quiet advance, but eventually they reached the point where the valley opened and the forest ended – it was time for action.
“At a gallop!” The Kon-Herr roared – and a forest of lances moved towards the heads of the riders’ ponies.
The plan was to crush everything in their path along the road and reach the gates of Oz. The Drokka thundered a reply, “Kill the all!” as they bent forward in their saddles and drove their ponies towards their highest speed.
The ground soon trembled as Drokka cavalry surged forward, their war cries reverberating through the valley – for they’d accomplish their goal of racing forward on the road before the Derkka could stop them. The rear guard of enemy saw them coming, a thundering wave of steel and fury, and hastily tried to form ranks, but it was too late to mount a proper defense against the charge.
Goblin archers desperately loosed volleys of arrows – most missing wildly. The Babel Derk chariots were too late to wheel around into position to help. And Uruk and most of the Myz were busy at the front lines and had no time to get to the rear to help.
Hacktor rode at the forefront of the van, the Ghast held aloft, its dark light guiding the charge. His column followed behind, moving like a whirlwind, and formed of horses, iron dwarves, and straightened lances – they came on like a raging river over that road and the earth groaned under their weight. During that charge, the Kon-Herr felt as if he was riding with a power that would trample everything before them, just as a column of wind breaks through a forest.
“Challenge not the Drokka!” The Ghastwielder roared.
“For Rhokki is our God!” The riders screamed.
Moments later, they crashed into the rear of the goblin ranks with the force of an avalanche. Hacktor riding at the front used The Ghast to slice through goblin flesh and bone as if it were air, the Ghast’s dark energy amplifying his every strike. His armored war pony trampled the enemy beneath its hooves, and the Drokka cavalry followed suit, cutting a swath through the goblin horde.
The Derkka had no chance to resist that tide – the terror of panic quickly seized them and their ill-formed ranks were broken, trampled, and slashed. They burst, like an overstretched chain, and those goblins that survived flew in every direction, howling, shouting, running away in fear.
For a moment, Hacktor thought his plan might work – but that moment quickly faded. The charge, although epic, wasn’t enough to clear a path all the way to the gates of Oz – for the sheer numbers of their foe were simply too much.
Soon enough the Babel Derk commanders circled around in their chariots and brought their fighters back together. They understood what Hacktor’s plan was and organized their forces to block the road. Meanwhile Uruk and his Myz forced their way from the gates of Oz back through the ranks to the rear, eager to get in on the action against this new threat.
The battle that followed was fierce beyond measure. Having reformed his riders, Hacktor led another charge – the Ghast swinging with deadly precision, cleaving through Myz and goblins alike. His war cry echoed across the battlefield, a rallying call to his troops and an alert to the Drokka trapped inside Oz that there was still hope.
“Cut! Slay! Kill!” Hacktor’s voice rang out, trying to bolster his rider’s courage as he fought, and also keeping an eye out for the Myz commander who was still trying to get through the ranks.
As for the rest of the Drokka, the odds against them were causing doubt. They had overwhelmed the goblins, but now that more Myz were coming back to meet them I could see the doubt in the dwarf riders’ eyes. They had faced my grey giants before, but that didn’t make it any easier. When the Drokka cavalry collided with the Myz knights the real fighting that day began in earnest.
Taking a defensive position before the gates, Uruk and the Myz that barred the way to Oz fought back with ferocity. Because of the mass of goblins and common Myz that stood between him and the gates, Hacktor could not reach Uruk as yet. Slowly, his forces began to push through the enemy ranks, inch by bloody inch. But the Myz and goblins were many, and the Drokka were few. Sensing their advantage and not wanting to miss a chance to destroy the dwarf king, Uruk left a group of Myz at the gates and ran towards the rear line, hoping to engage Hackor before he fell at the hands of someone else.
Days prior Uruk had received word of Sizor’s death at the hands of the dwarf king and he was thus eager for revenge. With a guttural roar, the giant swung his war hammer in wide arcs, sending Drokka warriors flying like broken dolls. Standing nearly twice the height of the stout Drokka, with a hammer head large enough to crush a Drokka helmet with a single blow, the weapon crackling with the malevolent energy of Baal as distorted the air around it. His armor added to the terror of those who faced him – forged by Gwar Uruk’s armor was adorned with spikes and with my magic it pulsed with his every movement. Slobbering black saliva, the giant reveled in the destruction he caused, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with savage joy as he crushed bones with every step. As he moved forward, Uruk bellowed commands to the goblins in the Gut language, driving them forward in a frenzy, trying to waylay the Drokka cavalry.
Sensing their advantage, the other Myz swung their massive weapons with terrifying ease, cleaving through armor and flesh. With the momentum on their side, the goblin horde gained renewed life and they took reengaged their rivals. Hacktor’s dwarves fought valiantly, but the Myz and goblins were now relentless. Although the Derkka were easy to fell, for ever Myz taken down, it took a score of Drokka riders with it. The ground on the road to Oz was soon slick with blood, the cries of the wounded and dying filling the air – and it quickly became clear that the Drokka simply didn’t have the manpower to continue the charge.
In spite the clear odds against them, still Hacktor urged his men forward, “We must get to Heraclez before it’s too late!”
He cleaved through the goblin horde with a ferocity fueled by desperation. His war axe gleamed with the blood of his enemies as he pushed forward toward the heart of the battle, closer to Uruk and closer to the gates of Oz. Beside him, Fredrik Vendal fought valiantly. The two warriors exchanged a brief glance, their determination mirrored in each other’s eyes.
“‘Ware, Hacktor – we’ve got to deal with that brute,” Fredrik pointed his axe towards Uruk, who was now cutting a swath through the Drokka ranks like a scythe through wheat.
The ground trembled with Uruk’s heavy steps as the myz clove a path through Hacktor’s forces – killing dwarf and pony alike sent flying like paper beneath the might of his blows. Hacktor raged at the sound of Uruk’s laughter as it boomed across the battlefield, a deep, guttural sound.
“Toys can’t save you, mushroom men!” Uruk bellowed towards the dwarf king – as he sent another Drokka rider flying off his pony. “I want your blood!”
Hacktor gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him as he lost more and more men. He turned to Fredrik, determination hardening his features. “We take him down together, Fredrik. We’ve faced worse than this.”
Fredrik nodded, his grip tightening on his pseudo-ghast. “Aye, but this one’s tough. Be smart.”
At last Uruk reached them, his yellow eyes gleaming with malice. Swinging his hammer to showcase his skill, he taunted, “Uruk crush you like insects!”
Although less than half the size of the myz, the Herr from Kel-de-Kaba showed great courage – Fredrik charged first, his shield raised to deflect the giant’s blow. The impact was tremendous, but Fredrik held his ground, even as the force of the strike nearly knocked him off his feet. Hacktor used that moment to dart in, his axe aimed for the vulnerable spot beneath Uruk’s arm. But Uruk was fast, faster than any creature of his size had a right to be. He twisted, bringing his hammer down in a devastating strike that Hacktor barely managed to dodge.
“Is that your best?” Uruk sneered, stepping forward and swinging his hammer again towards General Vendal. Fredrik met the blow with his shield again, gritting his teeth as the force drove him to one knee.
Hacktor saw another opening. With a roar, he drove his axe towards Uruk’s side, but the giant twisted in time to avoid a killing blow – Hacktor’s magical blade thus only gashed the Myz’s bone armor and barely cut the giant’s hide. Even still Uruk howled in rage at the feel of the Ghast’s power and he lashed out with his free hand, catching Hacktor with a backhand that sent the king sprawling. Although his helm diminished the power of the myz’s punch, even still blood streamed down Hacktor’s face inside his mask as he quickly got back to his feet.
“Fredrik! Now!” Hacktor called as he worked to get Uruk’s attention.
From the myz’s rear Fredrik leaped into action. Although lacking in magic, his pseduo-ghast was a Fastuz-made blade that was powerful in its own right – with it, the dwarf general cleaved into the rear of the armor over Uruk’s left calf, forcing the giant Myz to stumble and creating the perfect opportunity for Hacktor to deliver a killing blow.
Yet I wasn’t ready for Uruk to fall – weaving the fates I saved my champion – thus before Hacktor could take advantage of the opportunity Fredrik had created, Uruk had already moved backwards from between his attackers. He then surprised both of the dwarves when he first shouldered Hacktor out of the way and in a continuation of that same movement, swung his hammer in a reverse downward arc – catching Fredrik off guard. The ghastly blow tore the poor dwarf’s head in half and ripped off his left shoulder and arm before spattering the Fredrick’s blood and guts across the field.
“No!” Hacktor struggled back to his feet even as Uruk now came for him. Insane with with bloodlust at the sight of his fallen friend, Hacktor was ready to sacrifice everything in order to take the giant down. Yet before they could meet in full, I tweaked the fate lines of The Eye to cause another wave of attack from all sides – causing Uruk and Hacktor to be separated as they were both swept away in the battle.
Naturally Gwar had seen the unfolding chaos of the battle at Oz. Watching from his kastle on far away Kagor, his eyes gleamed with pride to see the hulking figure of Uruk, his fearsome champion, as he carved a path of destruction through the battlefield.
“He’s like the son I never had.” The god of war smiled proudly – for Uruk was a beast of unparalleled strength, a juggernaut that Gwar admired. “Yes, Uruk, show them the power of true war. “Hacktor will fall by your hand, and the balance will be restored.”
The more the battle unfolded, the more Gwar drooled in delight – for Uruk’s battle prowess was a sight to behold. Every swing of his massive war hammer brought death to the Drokka, and every roar of fury from the giant myz shook the ground beneath him. Although the battle between his champion and Hacktor and Fredrik had Gwar on the edge of his seat with anxiety, when Uruk felled Hacktor’s general, the god of war jumped for joy in celebration. “Horray! My son wins again!” And Gwar danced around his throne room in delight.
Meanwhile, rabid with anger, Hacktor’s rage knew no bounds – The Ghast quickly became a blur of motion in the Kon-Herr’s hands, cutting down any who dared oppose him. The king’s strength was awe-inspiring, his determination unyielding, and the mask of Rhokki that covered his visage from his famous helm was the picture of death.
But there was an urgent problem – the king’s men were exhausted and now falling faster than ever. Worse yet the gates of Oz seemed farther away than before. The plan wasn’t working!
For the first time in his life, Hacktor was forced to consider retreat. He’d lost his beloved friend and the Myz on this day at this time were simply too strong, their sheer power overwhelming his smaller forces. Worse yet, the goblin hordes were riding the momentum of their side and causing havoc themselves.
And yet Hacktor was not without his own tricks. He was by now a far more experienced military strategist, and he forced himself to recognize that while the brute strength of his initial attack wasn’t enough, there were other ways to win.
“Fall back to the ridge!” Hacktor shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle.
The order was met with confusion and hesitation by those Drokka who remained – for Hacktor had never called a retreat before, and the soldiers were unsure how to react. More of them fell in the moments that followed, but luckily for the rest, the Kon-Herr’s voice brooked no argument, and the Drokka riders that survived began to pull back, using the speed of their ponies to reach a nearby point of safety for a brief respite as they formed a defensive line on the ridge.
Uruk, seeing the enemy retreat, regrouped his knights, and then marched forward after their prey. Leaving the Babelonians and goblins to continue the attack against Oz, the giant led his myz after Hacktor – for they rightly guessed that if they could eliminate these rescuers then Oz would surely fall. Reaching the nearby hills where the Drokka had escaped to, Uruk sent his Myz to storm the ridge, their cruel weapons flashing in the sunlight as they charged – intent on slaughtering the smaller force that awaited them.
But Hacktor was ready. He had chosen this ridge for a reason—prior to the battle his scouts had pointed out this high ground as a back up option and now the king knew would it give his men an advantage, for the narrow pass would funnel the enemy into a choke point. And there was another benefit to this location – for it also allowed for hidden route to Oz’s gate – a little used pitch path that his scouts had confirmed was unwatched by the enemy – it was more treacherous for the ponies than the main road, but an outlet for Oz’s rescue nonetheless.
Yet before they could even think of reaching their trapped friends, they had to take on their enemy’s advance. There was no more time to lament Vendal’s loss or the fact that more than half of his men had fallen in that failed charge. Instead the Kon-Herr focused his Drokka on the task at hand – having dismounted their ponies when they arrived, the troops readied themselves to absorb the coming charge – shields locked, weapons thrust forward, as they waited for the inevitable.
“Hold the line!” Hacktor roared. “Let them come to us!”
Racing up the hill, the Myz attack crashed into the Drokka line with the force of a tidal wave. More Drokka fell but the Myz knights were unable to completely overwhelm the smaller fighters because they were unable to bring their full strength to bear in the narrow pass. Still they raged on and given time, it was clear they were going to win the day.
But that’s when Hacktor went to work – stepping forward through the ranks to stand in the pass and take on the brunt of the attack. The Ghast was truly magical that day – a blur in Hacktor’s hands as it cut through even Myz armor with ease. With each swing, The Ghastwielder seemed to grow more powerful, the dark runes along its blade glowing brighter with every drop of Myz blood it spilled. Now at the center of the action, Hacktor moved in that narrow pass with a speed and grace that belied his size, his every strike calculated, every movement precise. He was a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless.
Yet the Myz were not afraid. At one point, three Myz warriors charged at Hacktor simultaneously, their massive blades descending on him like the heads of a hydra. Hacktor parried the first strike with a flick of the Ghast, the force of the blow sending the Myz warrior stumbling back. He sidestepped the second attack, bringing the Ghast up in a deadly arc that cleaved through the Myz’s neck, sending its head tumbling to the ground. The third warrior hesitated for just a moment—a moment too long. Hacktor drove the Ghast into its chest, the blade piercing through armor and flesh with ease. He ripped the blade free, and the Myz crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
“Is this the best you can do?” Hacktor taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Come! Face me if you dare!”
His challenge did not go unanswered – the enemy’s ranks parted as Uruk boldly stepped forward. Those around him began to chant “Uruk! Uruk! Uruk!” in their gutteral language and the mighty champion drank in the praise, his mouth salivating at the sight of the smaller dwarf king. From behind his back he brought forward his left hand – then raised it to show off the head of Fredrik Vendal – a prize he’d made sure to bring with him from the battlefield. The myz behind him jeered with delight, while the Drokka forces cowered at the ghastly display.
Yet the horrible insult only made Hacktor angrier. The Kon-Herr raged, and with revenge on his mind and the magic of The Ghast coursing through his veins, The Ghastwielder attacked the giant that stood before him.
To the surprise of the Myz cheering on their leader, the dwarf king quickly proved he was every bit the match of Uruk. In fact Hacktor soon proved to be the better fighter – dodging the mighty swipes of Uruk’s hammer and then using The Ghast to strike at the giant over and again, his blows finding their mark and starting to weakened the mighty creature’s defenses.
Insane with anger at piss ant that dared to stand up to him, and now bleeding profusely from numerous gashes, Uruk began to swing his weapon wildly – causing the crowd on both sides to move further back in order to avoid being collateral damage. Yet for all the giant’s efforts, nothing he did worked – to the dismay of the enemy forces, Hacktor soon dodged yet another powerful blow and then used The Ghast in his own surprise spinning attack – the king’s dark blade whistling through the air and ultimately finding it’s mark – driving through the myz’ neck guard and cleaving Uruk’s head from his body! The giant’s head went flying as his headless body remained momentarily standing – the war hammer fell from his hand while still upright torso trembled as blood spewed in all directions – until at last the great creature collapsed to the ground with a thunderous crash.
“No, it cannot be…” Gwar whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief.
The God of war had eagerly been watching as the two titans clashed with earth-shaking force. He’d seen Hacktor fight with a desperation that bordered on madness, but Gwar had convinced himself that Uruk size and strength would be overwhelming and he was certain that Hacktor’s death was imminent.
But then, to Gwar’s horror, it became clear that Hacktor was the better fighter. The god watched in stunned silence as the small dwarf delivered a series of blows that staggered Uruk. And slowly, inexorably, the god of war knew that Hacktor gained the upper hand.
“Fight, you louse!” Gwar had screamed at Uruk from afar. “No excuses!”
But for all his raging, Gwar could do nothing but watch as, with an earth-shattering strike, Hacktor felled the god’s champion.
“Azazel!” Gwar roared, his voice filled with rage as Hacktor stood victorious, the Ghast gleaming ominously in the dwarf’s hand. “This is your fault! You and your cursed games!”
My friend’s fury was matched only by his growing dread. Gwar’s thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and fear. I’m sure he could feel the tendrils of doom wrapping around him, and he truly understood the magnitude of the threat Hacktor posed.
“I will find a way to destroy you, Hacktor Derkillez,” Gwar vowed, his voice cold and deadly. “Even if it takes all the power at my disposal, I will see you fall.”
But deep down, I’m sure Gwar knew that as long as the Ghast remained in Hacktor’s hands, the path to victory would be fraught with peril. And that realization terrified him more than anything else.
[You’re wondering – was I disappointed that my special myz didn’t even survive the year? Not really. First off because I could always make more. And secondly because seeing Gwar’s angry impotence was oh so satisfying – that alone was worth the price of admission].
Meanwhile the death of their commander Uruk sent a ripple of shock through the enemy ranks as they cowered before the sight of such a powerful force as Hacktor Derkillez. Backing away from Uruk’s remains the Myz momentarily moved away from the top of the ridge and further down the road to regroup.
And that was the moment that Hacktor had been waiting for. “Ride!” Hacktor shouted, racing back to his pony. “Take the narrow path to the gates!”
“Drive them back!” The Drokka riders followed their king. “Clear a path before they can regroup.”
It was a desperate attempt – for the path was rocky and more than a few mounts stumbled, sending their riders flying off – where they surely fell victim to the enemy’s haphazard pursuit. After the horrors of that day’s battles, less than thousand riders now remained in Hacktor’s calvary – but these followed their leader forward with renewed vigor, intent on reaching the gates of Oz at all costs.
“It’s working!” Hacktor soon spied the gates through the trees – he could even see the Drokka inside Oz’s entrance fighting desperately against a force of goblins trying to break in. “We can reach them. Faster!”
Indeed, the Kon-Herr’s assessment was correct. By drawing the myz back to that ridge and then withstanding their assault, the Drokka had gained enough of a time advantage to be able to cover that side path all the way to Oz – where only an equal sized battalion of goblins stood between them and their destination. And given the element of surprise, Hacktor was certain this charge would finally work
The king’s blood boiled with the thrill of success. “Attack!” He roared at the riders following him.
Caught by surprise, the Babelonian commanders trying to manage their lines soon found their forces in a vice – with Heraclez’ forces inside the mountain on one side and Hacktor’s cavalry bearing down on them from the other. With most of the myz still farther away on the main road, it was up to the Babelonians and common Derkka to try to hold out until the rest of the myz returned – they failed – their forces unable to withstand the force of the Drokka’s raging tide.
Riding in the front, Hacktor had quickly identified Babelonian leader – again disappointed it was not Garrick. Hacktor spat at the sight of the commander in his as yet untouched armor, as he called for his chariot driver to aim straight toward the approaching Drokka king. With a fierce growl, Hacktor spurred his pony faster, meeting the goblin’s charge head-on. The charioteer’s spear lunged for Hacktor’s chest, but with lightning reflexes, Hacktor parried the blow with the Ghast and, in one fluid motion, cleaved the commander in two as he wheeled by – the Babelonian tumbled to the ground, dead before he hit the dirt whilst the driver drove away to safety.
The loss of their leader caused a brief panic among the goblin ranks – allowing Hacktor’s cavalry to cleave a line through the enemy with speed. Without the myz to support them, the goblins offered little resistance to the Drokka’s charge and Hacktor and his men advanced all the way to Oz’s gates – where Heraclez and his desperate men received them with joy!
Unfortunately for them all – the battle was far from over…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 