Part XIV: Scrolling Through History
Chapter 3: The Real Housewife of Rhokki Pass
Timeline: AO 309-313
If you’ve been reading this far, you know that even though I’m comfortable in my Evilness, I’ve always had a soft spot in my warped soul (I’d say ‘heart’ but I don’t actually have one), for Hecla Derkillez. There’s just something about that Drokkina that I admire – no matter the circumstances, no matter how far she’s been knocked down, Hecla always gets back up and eventually wins. I’ve seen the fate lines enough to know that her future confirms that. Unfortunately for Hecla, she had to endure a lot of crap along the way.
Since I rather enjoy seeing people in pain (even those people I like), I couldn’t resist scrolling back and forth through the threads of The Eye and watching Hecla go through some more troubled times…
The year was AO 309 – as usual Hacktor was away in the west, fighting his never ending war. Hecla, The Queen, was left to rule the kingdom with her advisors – Monty Redstone chief among them. In truth, although Hecla had a mind for business, she’d long since tired of that game and instead left the Coinmaster to handle the affairs of the kingdom. The Queen knew Monty was embezzling untold amounts of wealth into his own coffers, but she didn’t care. For Hecla was tired. She had four children – Livy, Uria, Garl, and Alf – all of them healthy, and yet she couldn’t find much joy in any of them.
Livy, now thirteen, had become a source of concern. The once-bright and joyful girl had begun to rebel against the courtly life, her behavior becoming increasingly reckless. Beautiful like her mother, and oozing sexuality at an early age (like her mother), Livy recognized the power of her beauty and used that to replace the power she’d lost for being born too soon. The young Drokkina had taken to sneaking out of the palace at night, engaging in flirtations with the young men at court, and disregarding the lessons and etiquette expected of the de facto princess she was raised to be. Hecla had tried to intervene, but Livy’s willfulness only grew stronger with each attempt to rein her in. The tensions between mother and daughter added another layer of strain to Hecla’s already burdened heart.
Garl was so incredibly happy that he was continually surrounded by nursemaids and courtiers vying for his attention – and amazingly the five year old found time for all his admirers. The amount of people always around the joyful prince was too much for Hecla and she found herself more and more distant from her son.
Uria – the heir – was another child whom the queen separated herself from – although the reasons were different. Hecla was jealous of Uria – of the way the prince had totally captured the heart of Hacktor. The more the king loved Uria, the most Hecla grew part from her son. She didn’t even deny it to herself. And yet she made no effort to change it.
As for Alf, Hecla had never taken much interest in him. By the time Alf was born, Hecla’s own frustrations weighed heavily on her heart. She had wanted more than this—more than being a vessel for Hacktor’s sons while he focused on his wars. She longed for a daughter, someone who might share in the burdens of court life with her, but after three sons, she was beginning to lose hope. Alf’s frailty only added to her sense of weariness, and though she told herself she loved Alf as a mother should, she found it easier to pass him off to the nursemaids than to spend time with him herself.
And then something happened – something bad, awful, downright… sinister.
In the summer of AO 309 tragedy had struck the royal family.
Garl, now five years old, had been playing with other noble children near some of the smaller ravines outside the city walls earlier that day. It was a popular activity spot for the nannies of wealthy families to visit – considered safe, quiet, and even watched over by palace guards. But what should have been a simple afternoon of fun had turned into a nightmare. Garl had gone missing, and the official story the queen was told (one carefully crafted by Monty Redstone), was that the prince had fallen from a cliff during the games. The other children had not seen the fall, distracted by their own play, and the stories of the nannies were convoluted at best. As for the guards, by the time they arrived for a closer look Garl was nowhere to be found. Although all the adults there searched for the prince’s body, their efforts yielded nothing. He was presumed dead, lost to the unforgiving depths below – and no matter how many times the queen sent out additional search parties – nobody ever found anything.
Inside her chambers, Hecla sat in stunned silence, her face pale and her eyes hollow. She had not spoken since Monty brought the news to her, her grief too overwhelming for words. So distracted was Hecla, that she didn’t even notice it when the lecherous Coinmaster took advantage of the situation to ‘comfort’ the queen a bit more than was needed – caressing Hecla’s back and shoulders to try to ‘calm her down.’ Although she eventually shrugged Monty’s hands off and sent the fat dwarf away, Hecla was too upset to punish Monty for his actions. Instead she beat herself up mentally for all the time she’d lost with Garl – his bright and joyful spirit a source of endless happiness for so many others – but one she’d missed out on because of her own absence from his life. Now, that light was gone, and she could hardly bear the weight of her sorrow.
Livy, who was so often out gallivanting around town, had come back to the palace to be with her mother as soon as she’d heard the tragic news. She sat now beside her mother, her own eyes red from weeping. The rebellious teen, who had once doted on Garl a few years ago but had long since paid ‘the child’ no mind, was now consumed by her own guilt and sadness. Although she didn’t know it yet, Garl’s death would soon send Livy spiraling towards her own tragic path.
“I should have been watching him,” Livy whispered, her voice trembling. “I should have stayed closer like I used to…”
Hecla shook her head weakly. “It is not your fault, Livy,” she said, her voice barely audible. “None of this is your fault…”
But it was someone’s fault, Hecla told herself. And once again, Hacktor isn’t here to help us!
The queen’s messenger had reached Hacktor with the unfortunate news about his son in the weeks after the event in the battlefields of Gor. Because the fighting was still in full swing, the Kon-Herr stayed in The World Above and fulfilled his ‘duty’ – taking out his anger on the Derkka and the Myz – both of whom felt The Ghastwielder’s wrath.
When the king finally returned from the frontlines in the fall, his face was etched with grief and fury – yet he found little comfort from his wife. His first night home, Hacktor stood by the hearth in their bedroom, the crackling flames doing little to warm the icy tension between him and Hecla. His body weary from the war, his mind still unable to grasp that Garl, his joyful, innocent son, was dead.
Months had now passed since he’d first heard the news, but now that he was home again he was forced to face the reality of it again – his son, gone, in what the courtiers still whispered was a tragic accident. But Hacktor knew better. Now, as he stood facing Hecla in the cold, dim light of their chambers, his emotions threatened to consume him, twisting into something far darker. The pain was unbearable, but the questions gnawed at him even more. He glanced at Hecla, her face pale and drawn as she sat at her vanity. She looked tired, her once-bright eyes dimmed by sorrow, but Hacktor couldn’t stop himself.
“I don’t believe it was an accident,” he said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room.
Hecla’s turned her gaze away from her mirror, her eyes narrowing at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that something doesn’t add up, Hecla. Garl was too smart to have just… fallen like that. Someone should have been watching him.”
Hecla’s face flushed with sudden anger. She rose from her chair, her slender frame trembling with a mixture of fury and heartbreak. “What are you suggesting? You weren’t here. You didn’t see what happened!”
Hacktor’s jaw tightened, the bitterness rising in his throat. “That’s the point, Hecla. I wasn’t there, but… neither were you. Our son is dead, and I come back to whispers of ‘accident,’ but no one is giving me any answers. You could have been watching over him—”
“How dare you!” Hecla’s voice cracked as she cut him off, her eyes blazing with rage. “How dare you throw blame at me when you’re never home! More than half the year you’re gone, Hacktor! It’s been like this with you for over a decade! You march off to fight your wars, and we’re left behind, forgotten, waiting for scraps of your time and attention!”
Hacktor met his wife’s fire with his own. “I fight for our kingdom, for our survival. For our sons!”
“And what good has that done?” Hecla shot back, her voice shaking with emotion. “We’ve lost Garl! Our son is gone, Hacktor, and where were you? Out fighting your glorious battles while we were here, alone!”
Her words struck Hacktor like a blade to the heart. He could see the pain in her eyes, the raw agony that mirrored his own, but he couldn’t let go of the gnawing doubt that something more sinister had happened. His mind raced with memories of Garl, always laughing, always full of life, now silenced forever.
“He was my son too,” Hacktor growled, his voice thick with emotion. “And I deserve to know the truth. If it wasn’t an accident, I have a right to know what happened.”
Hecla stepped toward him, her hands shaking with fury. “The truth? The truth is you’re the one who left us, Hacktor! You don’t get to waltz back here after months of being away and suddenly start playing the concerned father! Where were you when he needed you? Where were you when I needed you?”
The question hung in the air like a sword, slicing through Hacktor’s defenses. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t deny it. He had been gone—gone when Garl had died, gone when Hecla had needed him most. But he had been fighting for them, for their kingdom, for their future. Yet, what had it cost him? What had it cost them?
Before Hacktor could answer, Hecla’s voice rose again, rawer this time, her emotions surging. “And what of Livy? You don’t even know what a nightmare she’s become! She’s running wild in the palace. She doesn’t listen to me anymore, she’s flaunting herself before every man in court like she has no decency! And it’s only going to get worse. She’s out of control, and I can’t keep her in line. Maybe if you were here more, you’d see what she’s turning into.”
Hacktor’s brow furrowed. He had heard whispers of Livy’s wayward behavior, but he hadn’t realized how far things had gone. Still, he couldn’t focus on Livy now—not when Garl’s death still weighed heavily on his mind.
“But I’m sure all you care about is Uria, right?” Hecla’s voice now trembled with something far more bitter. “Your golden son, the perfect heir. You dote on him like he’s the only child that matters! He worships you, and you revel in it, don’t you? While I’m left to manage everything else.”
Hacktor felt the sting of her words. It was true that Uria, his firstborn son and heir, held a special place in his heart, but Hecla’s jealousy was starting to rear its head in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He knew she resented the bond he shared with Uria, but how could she understand? Uria was his hope for the future, the boy who would one day inherit his throne.
But Hecla’s jealousy wasn’t just about Uria. It was about everything—the distance between them, the wars that took him away, the children she felt burdened by alone. And now, Garl was gone, and there was no fixing that.
They both stood in silence as the fire in the hearth crackled softly, the flickering light casting long shadows across the stone floor – the weight of their loss settled over them, thick and suffocating.
“I miss him,” Hecla finally whispered, her voice barely audible as her emotions softened. “I miss him so much, Hacktor. Every day, I wake up and I keep thinking I’ll hear his laugh, see his smile… but he’s gone. He’s really gone.”
Hacktor’s heart clenched, his anger melting away into the same sorrow that had plagued him since the moment he’d heard the news. He took a step toward her, reaching out to touch her arm, but she flinched, pulling away from him.
“You’re always leaving,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “And every time, you take more of us with you.”
Hacktor didn’t have an answer for that. He couldn’t deny it. He had been absent, not just physically but emotionally. His sons, his wife, his family—they had all paid the price for his endless wars.
“I’ll find out what really happened to Garl,” Hacktor said softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “I owe him that much. I owe you that much.”
Hecla didn’t respond. She turned away from him, her face hidden by the curtain of her dark hair. The distance between them had never felt so vast.
Hacktor stared at her back, feeling the weight of his failure as a father and a husband pressing down on him. He had lost Garl, and now, perhaps, he was losing Hecla too.
Unlike Hecla, who had accepted the story of Garl’s accidental fall, Hacktor continued to hold fast that his son’s death was NOT an accident—there were too many loose ends, too many unanswered questions. He suspected foul play and he was right.
The fact is that Monty Redstone, ever the puppet master, had orchestrated the crime and cover-up – ensuring that those pawns involved in the plot were swiftly sequestered. As a result the caretakers and guards who had been on duty that day were executed under the pretense of negligence, their deaths sealing the truth beneath a layer of falsehoods. The saavy Coinmaster knew the king would never stop searching for answers, but he’d made sure their were no loose ends, no leads for Hacktor to follow-up on long before the king returned home.
And Monty also knew this – given time, the king’s attention would soon be drawn back to the war – which is exactly what happened. As a result, despite Hacktor’s many inquiry’s for the truth about Garl’s death, the tragedy always remained a mystery – at least that’s the official story.
[Wanna know the real story? The truth, as I saw it through the Eye, was darker—a conspiracy, carefully hidden, but there nonetheless. In fact Garl did not die in a fall, nor was his body lost. Instead the child was taken against his will and put under a dark spell of immobilization by Malchior Der Naves – the high ranking cleric who had never stopped aligning himself with the traitorous Rukstinz family. Held in suspended animation, Garl’s body was securely packed and then secretly shipped off to Babel. The boy was then reanimated and used by the Priests of Baal in The Feast of the Shadows ritual, which ultimately culminated in Garl’s blood being harvested for it’s adenachrome. Who drank that fountain of youth ichor? None other than the exiled Lord Thane Rukstinz – that vile old Drokka elite who’d escape Hacktor’s wrath and now enjoyed a life of luxury amongst his people’s enemies].
Yes Monty’s saavy play effectively stonewalled Hacktor’s further inquiries and the king, soon distracted again by his endless war, could do little more than mourn his son briefly before turning back to battlefield strategy. Garl’s death thus became yet another shadow in the dark corners of Hacktor’s mind, a specter that haunted him but never fully took shape—a ghost left to linger in the background of his thoughts.
And so, the Derkillez family continued on, their happiness shattered by tragedy. Hecla’s heart remained broken, Livy’s innocence slowly withered, and Hacktor, though strong in the face of war, carried a deep and secret grief for the son he had lost but never forgotten. And yet, in spite of the growing distance between them Hacktor and Hecla remained united as husband and wife – sharing the occasional fleeting moment of intimacy when the weight of their shared sorrow had driven them together in search of solace. One of those unions produced fruit and thus it was that early in the year AO 310 that another child was expected to come into the Derkillez family.
Although a winter chill still struggled for life inside Rhokki Pass, there could be no denying that the first hints of spring now whispered through the mountains, bringing with it the promise of rebirth and growth. Even the downtrodden peasants in their rundown caves and taverns felt it as the talk among all was about their beloved Queen’s new child.
Yet as much as the people might have celebrated, within the stone walls of the palace, the shadows still lingered. Garl’s tragic death, now over a year ago, still left an indelible scar on the royal family. Hecla’s pregnancy had been a surprise, one that neither of them had expected and in the months leading up to her childbirth, Hacktor had grown more distant, while Hecla found herself clinging to the fleeting hope that the new child might bring healing – even though she feared the worst.
This was the mood as the time of Hecla’s labor began. The palace once again became alive with the sounds of midwives and attendants scurrying through the halls – and although the king and queen might have been uncertain about their future, their friends and servants all prayed that this could be a day that could bring a much-needed spark of joy to the kingdom.
Within her chambers, Hecla lay in her birthing bed, her face a mixture of exhaustion and hope. She had been through this four times before, but this time felt different. This time, the stakes were higher—her heart was heavier, her spirit more fragile. But through the pain, she held on to the belief that this child might bring light back into her life – especially if it was finally a girl.
Monty Redstone stood with Hacktor and other courtiers in the hall outside the queen’s room exchanging pleasantries. Ever the silent observer, always weaving his schemes from the shadows, Monty had seen what the death of Garl had done to Hacktor and Hecla, how it had driven a wedge between them. And though he had played his part in that tragedy, he knew that every step was necessary for the larger game at play. He would wait and see how this new child would affect the king and queen’s fragile dynamic – and secretly he held on to the hope that an opening would emerge in which he could replace the king at Hecla’s side.
As the hours passed, the cries of labor echoed through the bed chamber. Hecla clenched the sheets beneath her, her body trembling with the effort, her mind filled with a mixture of fear and hope. Beside her, the midwives encouraged her, offering words of comfort. But it was Hecla’s own inner strength that carried her through.
Finally, with a final, agonizing push, the child was born. A newborn’s cry pierced the air, loud and clear, and the midwives swiftly wrapped the tiny baby in soft blankets before presenting her to Hecla.
“A girl, Your Majesty,” the maid Jakki said, her voice filled with awe. “A beautiful baby girl.”
Tears welled in Hecla’s eyes as she reached out for her daughter. The weight of her grief, of the past year’s sorrow, seemed to lift as she held the child in her arms. The baby’s tiny fingers curled around Hecla’s, her skin warm and soft, her eyes blinking open for the first time. Hecla’s heart swelled with love—pure, untainted love. She had thought that after Garl, she would never feel joy again, but this baby was proof that life could still offer happiness, even in the darkest of times.
“She is perfect,” Hecla whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “Jini… her name shall be Jini.”
The room was filled with a quiet reverence as the queen cradled her new daughter, her grief momentarily forgotten in the warmth of this new life. Jini’s presence was like a balm to her wounded soul, a light in the darkness.
But across the room, still standing in the doorway, Hacktor Derkillez watched with a distant gaze. The mighty king could not bring himself to share in Hecla’s joy. His too-injured heart could not be warmed by the sight of a new child. Since Garl’s death, Hacktor had buried himself in the war, and when he was home he’d focused on Uria’s training as his heir, while struggling to keep Livy from falling too far astray. His mind was thus consumed by burdens and the birth of a new daughter seemed like a distraction he had no time for.
As he stood in the doorway, Hecla looked up at him, her face glowing with happiness. “Hacktor,” she said softly, “come and meet your daughter.”
Hacktor hesitated, his jaw tightening. He stepped forward slowly, his heavy boots echoing on the stone floor. When he reached the bedside, he glanced down at the newborn, his expression unreadable. Jini squirmed in Hecla’s arms, her tiny face peaceful, her eyes closed in sleep.
“She’s… small,” Hacktor said, his voice flat.
Hecla’s smile faltered, her joy dimming in the face of Hacktor’s indifference. She had hoped that Jini’s birth would bring them closer, that this child would heal the wounds that had grown between them. .
“She’s perfect,” Hecla repeated, her voice firmer now, almost as if trying to convince him. “She is our daughter.”
Hacktor nodded, but his eyes drifted away from the baby and back toward the door. “I have matters to attend to. The war… Uria’s training. I’ll leave you to rest, Hecla.”
And with that, he turned and left the room, his steps heavy as he walked away. Hecla watched him go, her heart sinking. The tension between them only seemed to grow with Hacktor’s coldness toward Jini. She had hoped that this child would be their salvation, but it seemed that Hacktor was too consumed the weight of his responsibilities to see the gift they had been given.
Outside the doorway looking in Monty Redstone observed the scene that just playedout. He knew that this distance between Hacktor and Hecla could be useful—another thread to pull in his ever-complex web of schemes. The royal family’s fractures were deepening, and Monty had no intention of letting those wounds heal.
In the weeks that followed, Hecla devoted herself fully to Jini. The baby became the center of her world, and she lavished her daughter with all the love and attention. Jini’s presence brought a light back into Hecla’s life that she had feared was lost forever.
But Hacktor remained distant. While he was still at home, the king spent his days training Uria, preparing him to take his place as the heir to the throne, and his nights were filled with thoughts of the war, of battles yet to be fought.
And so it was that the royal couple continued to fracture – it was a script that I couldn’t have written any better if I’d tried.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 