Part XVIII: The Darkest Day
Chapter 7 – The Victim of the Pines
Timeline AO 326
From the distance of realms beyond mortal comprehension, I watched the tragic play that was the life and death of Hacktor Derkillez all unfold through the Eye of Seraphiel. A relic granting me vision across time and space, a clarity of sight unmatched by any other. Its threads of fate flickered with the events of the day, casting the final moments of Hacktor’s life in vivid detail.
Hacktor Derkillez had failed in his chance to destroy Gwar.
Through the Eye, I had watched as Hacktor had surprised Gwar when the God of had foolishly pretended to impale the dwarf and subsequently allowed himself to be stabbed by the desperate mortal in the process. Hacktor’s dagger had plunged deep into Gwar’s chest, and when I saw god’s horror, for a moment even I was taken aback.
Yet luckily for Gwar, Hacktor had long ago made the error of giving away the seemingly non-descript dagger called The Grim and had chosen to instead arm himself with the more royal looking dirk known among his people as Baldur’s Bane. Unfortunately the Kon-Herr discovered, only too late, that this decision had changed the course of history in horrible ways.
I could see it all so clearly now, even if Hacktor or Gwar could not. The dwarf had stood a chance, however fleeting, to end the life of the God of War. That much is true. For if Hacktor had wielded The Grim – that black dagger forged by the hand of Hef Fastuz under divine instruction – then then outcome of Hacktor’s strike into the heart of the god would have been vastly different.
For The Grim had been made for this very moment, crafted to strike down even a god. But mortals… ah mortals rarely see the paths laid before them. They stumble, they hesitate, and in Hacktor’s case, they give away their one true weapon for something more ornate. How utterly predictable.
Baldur’s Bane – the blade, though finely made, proved to be quite useless against a being like The God of War. The only thing Gwar suffered was a moment of wounded pride. But even that quickly passed and now the god’s black eyes were now alive with fire.
“No more games, stone man.” And Gwar snatched up Hacktor by the neck with one hand, while he hungrily retrieved with the other. Then, raising high both of his prizes — and careful not to touch the blade of the Ghast! — Gwar bounded in one leap to the top of a nearby hill and wailed in victory, “YAAAAAAAWWWWP!”
It was a hate-filled scream so powerful that every living creature within earshot would have died of fright – had they not already been destroyed by Hacktor’s Ghast when he evoked the name of Shedu Mazai to create The Cataclysm.
In truth, had Gwar destroyed his own army with his murderous voice, the god would not have cared about such trifling consequences as losing untold thousands of loyal myz or goblins — for he rarely noticed the destruction so often left in his wake. However, what Gwar did not intend was that Hacktor Derkillez too should die!
But that is what happened, for it was with horror that my colleague realized that what little life was left in his hated rival had just been forced out of existence by the fright instilled by the god’s own awful wail.
[I laughed at the scene – as usual Gwar’s carelessness created problems for himself. He just doesn’t think these things through. And you wonder why I hate working with him?]
“ARRRRRG!” Gwar raged, ruthlessly shaking Hacktor’s body. “Come back! I never gave you permission to die!”
And thus ended the life of Hacktor Derkillez, Kon-Herr Drokka of The Rhokii’s, Royal Balkery, The Great Ghastwielder, Twin of Hecla, and Reaper of The War of The Ghast — now gone, never to walk again upon this world. Like most mortals, he departed without ever realizing his true potential – for he trusted too much in his own designs.
In short, Hacktor Derkillez was naught but a pawn in the game of the gods – his life expendable and his chips now cashed in.
But the game itself would go on – as it always did – and it about to take a new twist…
Frustrated, Gwar dangled the body of Hacktor Derkillez before his eyes, appraising the cursed Drokka that was now little more than a tangled ball of bloody flesh and broken armor.
After a time, a new idea occurred to the brute – after carefully putting the blade of the Ghast in a protective sheath at his hip, and putting his sword into the scabbard on his back, the god pulled his pitchfork from the ground near the dead body of Garrick. Then, after finding Hacktor’s helm and putting it back upon the Kon-Herr’s head, Gwar tossed the dwarf king’s body into the air, and caught it on the prongs of his pitchfork – impaling the pitiful Kon-Herr. The faceplate of Hacktor’s helmet continually fell open and closed as his head bobbed up and down while the god shook his pike, blaming Hacktor for dying too soon.
“Ha, ha, ha!” War mocked. “What a fool you were to challenge me — for not did I easily defeat you, but I gained your great Ghast too! Ah, but that is just as well, for such a weapon as this was surely meant for me all along.”
Although he took some time to bask in victory, my colleague didn’t celebrate too long — for he knew he had more work to do. [I was actually surprised the Big Lummox actually remembered the plan]. With the Ghast on his hip and Hacktor’s body stuck on his pike, Gwar raced to the east across the landscape that had been leveled by Hacktor’s Cataclysm.
In but a short time, he neared the great gates of The Siq, the rebuilt entryway to the Drokka kingdom of Rhokii Pass. Once there, the God of War stood boldly before the towering doors, his laughter echoed through the mountains, reverberating off the great stone walls and striking terror into the hearts of the Drokka who cowered behind their gates. The God of War stood triumphantly holding the grisly remains of Hacktor Derkillez. The sight was obscene, a grotesque mockery of battlefield honor, and Gwar reveled in it, feeding off the dread and anguish of those who watched in silent horror.
Gwar seethed to behold his most hated realm in all the world — for it was the Drokka who were the only creatures who had ever made him know the taste of fear! Yet now, with The Ghast finally in his possession, he laughed, knowing that he no longer had a reason to hide.
But the defilement of Hacktor was not enough for him. No, Gwar craved more — more terror, more destruction, more suffering. The sight of the Drokka kingdom, fanned the flames of his fury. He glared up at the ancient stone fortress with its imposing doors, a symbol of everything the Drokka had ever built to defy him.
“Come out!” Gwar bellowed, pounding his fist against his chest, the sound like a thunderclap in the cold mountain air. “I dare you to face me! Or are you all cowards like your king?”
Inside the fortress, the Drokka soldiers stared in disbelief at the horror that unfolded outside their walls. They had heard legends of Gwar, the God of Hate, the God of War, but none had ever seen him and lived to tell about it and certainly nothing had prepared these soldiers for the sheer brutality they were witnessing today. Some fell to their knees, praying to Rhokki or any god that would listen, while others held their weapons tighter, though they knew it was in vain. Yet none dared to face him.
Gwar’s attention shifted back to the bloodied landscape before him. Hacktor’s mangled body, now reduced to nothing more than a grisly testament to his power, was only the beginning. He eyed the gates once more, dark ideas forming in his twisted mind.
“Come out, come out,” he called again the men inside.
Once he felt certain they were watching, Gwar did something unexpected – although certainly not out of character. For then it was that the God of Hate invented a new crime against humanity — a horrible act never before seen upon Mittengarten, but one that would become Gwar’s trademark and earn him yet another moniker. Gwar made Hacktor Derkillez – the once Kon-Herr Drokka of Rhokii Pass, the former Great Ghastwielder, and still the beloved son of Rhokii – into the first to suffer of one of the most ignoble of deaths: the Victim of the Pines!
Tearing Hacktor’s body off his bloody pike, Gwar gave little thought as the barbs on the prongs tore out gobs of flesh from the Kon-Herr’s body. Then, he ripped away any armor that remained on the Kon-Herr and tossed it aside. Holding up the mangled pulp that was once his rival, Gwar backhanded Hacktor’s head, knocking clean the Drokka king’s helmet in the process, with countless gems from the faceplate flying off in all directions. But all of this was just a preamble to what was to come.
Next, the cruel godling used two separate ropes to first pull, then bend, and finally to batten down two of the biggest pine trees in direct view of The Siq’s doors. With the trunks tied towards one another, Gwar then bound Hacktor’s body diagonally between the battened down boughs. Hacktor’s arms and legs were thus tied tightly between the two pines. With just a third single rope holding the trap in place, it was evident what ghastly deed the War-God had in mind.
“Noooooo!” Gwar heard the voices of the Drokka call from within their stronghold – and their pleading adding to the god’s growing delight.
His eyes gleamed with renewed malevolence. Turning his gaze back to the fortress, wanting to see the entire Drokka race brought low, Gwar unsheathed The Ghast. With a sickening grin, he raised the Ghast high into the air, its black blade catching the last rays of the sun, casting an ominous shadow across the valley. “You hear that, vermin?” he shouted. “Your king is dead, and so too will every last one of you die, screaming for mercy that will never come!”
At last he roared, “I am Gwar, The Great Ghastwielder – none shall ever defeat me!” And with a final horrific laugh of victory, Gwar brought the blade down with a <WHOOOSH!>, slashing through the rope that held his trap and driving The Ghast into the ground below.
The earth trembled beneath the blow, and a fissure split the ground before him, a gaping wound in the earth itself. Dark energy flowed from the blade into the rift, and as the ground quaked, something began to stir deep within the mountain. Meanwhile the trees that were holding Hacktor’s body quickly sprang back to vertical while gruesomely tearing the poor dwarf’s body in two and flinging his tattered remains in all directions!
“Ha, Ha, HA!!” sounded the maniacal laugh of merciless War, the sounds ringing throughout the Rhokii’s.
Inside the Siq, the Drokka saw their king defiled, yet their horror was only beginning – for when Gwar had slammed The Ghast into the earth, the Drokka felt the rumble inside their fortress, and panic spread like wildfire among them. The ground beneath their feet trembled as if the very bones of the earth were cracking. From the depths of those fissure, black tendrils of smoke began to rise, coiling upward like serpents made of shadow. And with them came whispers — dark, insidious voices that slithered into the minds of the Drokka, planting seeds of doubt, fear, and despair.
Gwar stood back, watching with glee as his dark magic spread, infecting the minds of his enemies. The Ghast, now fully awakened, pulsed with power in his hand, feeding off the fear that now gripped the fortress.
But there was something more.
From within the smoke, shapes began to form. Wraith-like figures, twisted and gaunt, began to emerge from the rift. These were the souls of the damned, those warriors who had died in service to Gwar long ago, their spirits now enslaved to his will. They were bound to him, eternal instruments of his hatred, and now they would be unleashed upon the Drokka.
Gwar’s laughter continued, louder and more sinister than ever. He pointed toward the gates, sending his spectral army forward. “Run, Drokka!” he bellowed. “Run and hide, but know that there is no escape. For I am Gwar, and I am your end!”
The wraiths surged forward, slipping through cracks in the fortress walls, their ghostly forms seeping into every corner of the Siq. Their cold, dead hands reached for the living, sapping the very warmth from their bodies, leaving only icy despair in their wake.
As Gwar watched his work unfold, he glanced down at the Ghast once more. It glimmered with a strange, otherworldly light, almost as if it, too, reveled in the destruction it wrought. Then he taunted one final time, “Don’t go to sleep my little friends, for when you least expect it, I’ll be back!”
And with that Gwar left – taking his prize and racing back towards Kagor – intent of using it to his advantage.
Too bad for Gwar, I had other ideas…
As it turned out, the Drokka were forced to wait a long time – never knowing when Gwar would return to menace them again. The Siq, once under the looming threat of his return, stood still, its gates locked tight, its people hiding in constant fear of the inevitable. Yet, days turned to weeks, then months, and then years – yet no sign of the God of War appeared on the horizon. Some believed he was lying in wait, others that he had forgotten them entirely in his lust for blood and conquest elsewhere.
The Ghast, that magical blade now bound to Gwar’s hand, disappeared along with him – or so said The Kroniklz. Its absence, however, was far from forgotten. The whispers among the Drokka grew, spreading in the dark corners of taverns, passed from one nervous soldier to another as they patrolled the now silent walls. Even sang about by the bards. What had become of the weapon that had once been their pride? What power did it now hold in the hands of a god as cruel and reckless as Gwar? Did that god still even have it?
No one knew for certain. The Kroniklz never gave a conclusive account of The Ghast’s fate after that dreadful day. It was as though the blade itself had vanished from time and memory, erased from the annals of history, leaving only rumors to fill the void.
But rumors, as they often do, took on a life of their own.
Some of the legends claimed that Gwar had left the mountains to carry out a greater, more dangerous mission. According to one tale, he had plotted to use The Ghast against Shedu Mazai – the God of Death -hoping to steal his evil colleague’s powers for himself. Others swore that he had set his sights on Sindra, the Goddess of Lust, who was his sometimes lover yet had always abandoned him – did Gwar use The Ghast to steal Sindra for himself – to lock her away on the island of Kagor? And then there were the more daring stories — the ones shared only by the boldest or the most foolish. They claimed that Gwar had grown tired of serving Baal, the Lord of the Underworld, and had devised a plan to turn The Ghast against his own master. Still others said that Gwar sought to overthrow He Who Has NO Name – to challenge the very Ruler of the Three Planes and take the throne for his own!
But, as with all things concerning we gods, the truth was far more elusive. In fact, among all the gods, only I knew the truth – the real reason behind Gwar’s long absence, the secret of what became of The Ghast after he left the Siq.
I’ve never told anyone this story before – but I guess it’s now time to tell you…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 