Part XIX: Epilogue
Chapter 1: The Fog of War
And so it was that The War of the Ghast came to an end — yet, my friends, this tale is far from over. In fact our story is only just beginning.
Oh sure, there are loose ends to tie up, little scraps of history you might find interesting. First, the Drokka Kroniklz marked the end of this war as the pivotal event that heralded the Second Age of Mittengarten. The price, however, was far heavier than any of them could have imagined. Hacktor’s War cost more than lives—it decimated their very civilization. With over half a million Drokka slain over two decades of relentless bloodshed, it is said their mighty subterranean cities—once thriving with the hum of industry—soon echoed empty. In fact half of these lives were claimed after the arrival of the Myz—for so fearsome were these giants, their very presence a nightmare on the battlefield.
Then there was the doomed Battle of the Blackwoods, where Hacktor’s entire army—150,000 strong—vanished into smoke and ruin. The cataclysm he unleashed, invoking Shedu Mazai to empower the Ghast, wiped them from existence on that Darkest Day. The Ghast, a weapon of mass destruction so potent, it shattered not just armies but the very fabric of the world around it.
[It was a beautiful thing, right? I mean the likes of such devastation wouldn’t be seen again until a certain day in Hiroshima, many millennia later. And let me tell you, Harry Truman’s little invention—the A-Bomb—sent more souls to me in one day than I’d ever acquired before. But just to be clear, who do you think gave his scientists the idea for that WOMD in the first place?]
But I digress. Hacktor, you see, didn’t make war simply for the sake of destruction. He wanted to be remembered, wanted to go down in history as the Kon-Herr who reshaped his people’s fate. The Spirit of the Well promised him that—he would become a legend. And, oh, how he did.
But legends are tricky things, aren’t they? They seldom unfold as the hero envisions. Sure, Hacktor’s wish was granted, but the Drokka never flourished again after his war. Their civilization—once proud and powerful—would never reach the heights it had known before his doomed reign.
Many of their underground cities became ghost towns. The vast, echoing halls of their mountain kingdoms stood empty, haunted by the memories of the craftsmen and artisans whose knowledge was buried with them. The secrets of Hef Fastuz and other master smiths, lost forever in the dust of history. Oh, there were survivors, of course, and they persevered under new leaders, but their past glories would never be relived again. The Derkka and Myz suffered too, decimated just as brutally as their enemies. Neither side could recover quickly, both licking their wounds for centuries to come.
And what became of the Myz? Those giant knights, so terrible in their might, retreated to Kagor, the cursed island of their father god Gwar. As you’ll soon learn, Gwar vanished after he acquired The Ghast, but the Myz waited for him. In the meantime they built their cursed kastles and the famed Killing Fields, always preparing themselves for a future war – their only purpose in life. They knew the world had not seen the last of them.
As for the Derkka, they were broken. A once-million-strong people reduced to a ragged fraction of their former numbers. With Garrick gone and their political structure in shambles, the skin trade collapsed, famine devastated their lands, and it would be centuries before their population and influence recovered – if it ever did.
Yet, despite the carnage, the death, and the ruin, there were those who profited. Monty Redstone became absurdly wealthy, buying up the kingdoms of Kel-de-Kaba and Al-Uzza for a song, installing himself as Kon-Herr of both. Meanwhile, the Rukstinz clan and other courtiers—far from the frontlines—continued to flourish, for the elite always manage to come out on top, don’t they?
And then there was Queen Hecla. Oh, dear Hecla. With Hacktor gone, she ascended to the throne of Rhokki Pass as Kon-Herra, and though she grieved her fallen soul mate, she rose to greatness, using that fragile time of peace to rebuild her shattered people as best she could. Ironically, while the Scribes of Chaldea ‘adjusted’ history to paint Hacktor as a tragic hero, it was Hecla’s reign that would go down in legend. She was the one who restored hope to the Drokka. She was the one who ensured their survival. [Remember I told you to keep an eye on her. I always knew she had the fire].
Eventually Hecla passed the crown on to her son Alf – whose reign was marked by such wisdom that numerous books of the Kroniklz touted his sagacity. It was Alf who formed alliances beyond the mountains – particularly with the Amorosi Forest people of eastern TerrVerde. And that fact would prove to be of prime importance in the future of the continent.
And so it is that we come to the end of this tale. Although there is one little tidbit I’m supposed to share with you. Because of my ‘connection’ to Hacktor, I was privy to his thoughts even after he died. These then were his last words — an epitaph he wailed to his people from the afterlife — one they sadly never heard.
My Brothers! My Brothers!
Hear me, Oh My Brothers!
My horror is only just beginning.
My chance to reach the afterlife is gone.
Never will I reach Kawkawzuz to fight again.
Forever am I trapped in Mittengarten to answer for my crimes.
Unless YOU can release me.
Unless YOU will learn from my mistakes.
I made war for the wrong reasons.
I wanted to change the face of history.
I thought I had a weapon which would make me invincible.
I thought I had a weapon that would ‘win’ at War.
I was wrong.
I see now that I could never ‘win’ at War.
Nobody can.
Strike that – YOU can.
War can be defeated…
If you refuse to fight.
Brother, Oh Brothers, hear me now.
If you continue to make war,
None of your Ghastly weapons will save you,
And only a Grim future will remain…
Touching, isn’t it? Hacktor, in his final moments, trying to atone for the blood on his hands. But here’s the thing—his wisdom, his plea for peace, it was destined to fall on deaf ears. For instead of heeding his warning, you humans would go on to devise even greater weapons, even more ingenious ways to destroy each other. And I must say, it’s been a delight watching you do it. Year after year, war after war, century after countless century of death and destruction – I should be thanking you – you’ve kept me in business all these years!
But fear not, friends, our story is far from over – don’t you want to know what happened to The Ghast?
The Apocrypha of Azazel 