Part III – The Discovery
Chapter 3 – The Unfortunate Interruption
Location: Nektar’s Cauldron
Timeline: Sixth Age of Substance, 46th Year, Spring
The bones of my hands trembled with a mixture of excitement (and desperation) as I unwound the cord that held the gutskin covering bound to the top of Aspus’ fourth and final Reconnaissance Jar. The air in the dimly lit chamber was heavy with the scent of ancient stone and the faint, acrid tang of the green viscosity within the jars, a scent that clung to my skeletal fingers like a curse. The room was but an alcove, yet it was private and suited my purposes. I’d initially planned to take all the jars back to my main apartments and listen to them while I relaxed, but as it turned out I was so eager to hear Apsus’ tale that I just found the first place that would work. In this secluded alcove, the walls around me were slick with condensation, reflecting the flickering light of a single torch mounted in an iron sconce. It was eerie and bleak, just how I liked it.
I’d been listening to the spy’s words from the first three vessels and I’d gained a wealth of information so far – each jar’s contents had shimmered with a dwindling glow as Aspus’s voice told his tale. I’d learned that Akka had been decimated by a plague at some point in the past, its once-mighty mountain halls now ringing hollow and empty, the echoes of dwarven laughter replaced by the silence of death. I discovered new human settlements in the region, ruled by a merchant who lived in a city called Fubar and claimed the grandiose title of Lord of Orkney—a man I bookmarked as someone to manipulate in the near future, his ambition a ripe fruit for my plucking. And I listened with glee to Aspus’s tale of successfully entering Akka, uncovering the fate of Pesties—death, as expected—and returning with a few of the former Viperz’s bones, their etched surfaces holding a riddle I had tagged for follow-up back in Room 101.
It’s true that in reviewing the first three I hadn’t learned anything about The Grim—that magical dagger I’d sought for centuries—but I continually reminded myself that finding the blade wasn’t part of Aspus’s mission. And yet, I couldn’t help holding out hope for some news on that topic, a desperate flicker of longing that gnawed at my core like a starving rat. Surely the final jar would give me some scrap I could use, right?
Yet the fourth jar proved to be the most frustrating of all. As the green viscosity slowly dissipated, revealing Aspus’s final tale in a ghostly whisper, I never got more than just a whiff of what I most wanted. Sure, I learned additional details about the state of affairs in Akka – the deadly pall that now comprised the entirety of that kingdom’s silent existence as it had turned into a desolate graveyard of stone and sorrow—yet Aspus remained forever silent on The Grim. More frustrating still – as his last words flowed forth from the milking vessel to reveal a monotonous recounting of his return journey to The Cauldron, they finished with his yearning for the praise he’d hoped to receive from me for his successful mission. Praise? Hah!
<Crash!> I threw the jar to the stone floor, the shattering sound reverberating through the alcove like a thunderclap, shards skittering across the slick surface.
<Smash! Boom! Pow!> I demolished the other pots as well, my rage a tempest that knew no bounds, each vessel exploding into fragments that mingled with the dust of ages.
“Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!” I raged with a snarl that shook the very walls, the torch flame flickering wildly as if fearing my wrath. “I still do not have that which I most desire! That which I deserve! Where is The Grim?!?”
“<SHREEEEEEEEIIIIIIIKKKKK>!!!” I let forth a tormented screech, so high-pitched and violent that it destroyed all the remaining objects in the tiny room as everything blew apart around me in a cataclysmic burst – much of the shrapnel striking me too, tearing through my black robes – and while my attire took a tear or three, I personally suffered no ill effects (for I was still very much filled with Baal-Zebub’s hellfire, rendering me quite immortal, and I barely even noticed the marks, the sting of the debris a mere whisper against the inferno of my fury).
Yet inside, I was suffering. The weight of my failure pressed down on me like the crushing depths of the abyss, a void that no amount of hellfire could fill. “Why do I torture myself so?” I gasped, as if struggling for breath, even though I didn’t actually need to breathe to survive. My voice echoed in the shattered remains of the alcove, a hollow sound that mirrored the hollow ache within me. “Why can’t I just be happy with things as they are without trying to change them? You never hear about Gwar complaining about his lack of knowledge. And Inanna doesn’t seem to care about all the scheming I do behind her back. So why should I put so much effort into things? Oh, wat’s it all for?”
Exhausted by it all, I slumped to the floor, feeling broken and defeated, my skeletal form a crumpled heap amidst the wreckage. The cold stone beneath me seeped into my bones, a chilling reminder of my own unyielding nature, and the silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the faint drip of condensation from the ceiling, each drop a mocking tick of time…
After a while—who can say how long?—I picked myself up, my shoulders sagging under the weight of my despair, and made my way back to Room 101, all the while lamenting that I would never find anything useful that could lead me to my long-sought-after prize.
The corridors of The Cauldron stretched endlessly before me, their walls slick with moisture that glistened like tears in the flickering torchlight, the air, as always, heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay from the volcano I called home. The distant wails of the damned grew louder as I approached the Life Labs, a cacophony that matched the turmoil in my mind.
In a rather rotten mood, I cracked open the door to Room 101, the hinges creaking ominously as I poked my head through the opening, pulling back my hood to reveal the full vulgarity of my ghastly skull—its hollow eye sockets glowing with a faint, malevolent light, my jagged teeth bared in a grimace. “Did you miss me, child?” I hissed, my voice a low, mocking croon that echoed off the walls lined with grim tomes and pulsing runes.
I’ll admit that what followed was the unspeakable defilement and plundering of loyal Aspus’s body and soul—an “extraction process” I used to ensure that my spy was indeed telling me all that he knew, consciously or subconsciously. To an outside observer, what I did to the Viperz could only be described as a bloody and ruthless rape of his very existence, a violation so profound that it transcended mere physical torment. Unfortunately for Aspus, because of my foul mood, I was perhaps a bit more aggressive with his extraction than I intended, and looking back now, I may have done things differently if I had the chance for a redo. But, as I always say, each of us has a part to play in this Great Play of Life, and Aspus was now performing his big scene.
You’re wondering—was Aspus still alive while I tortured him so? Yes, very much so. The milking process I’d put him through earlier, while painful, had done no long-term damage and was, in fact, a normal part of a Viperz’s life. But what happened to him next there in that Life Lab was a far different story.
Aspus, now in human form again, looked up at me from the steel table, his body strapped down with leather restraints, his eyes wide with terror and resignation. The “daylight” torches cast a stark brightness across the room, illuminating the gleaming array of instruments on the nearby cart—flaying knives, bone saws, impalers, and hooks, all polished to a mirror-like finish. Aspus shifted weakly and tried to smile at me – yet we both knew that smile would quickly fade.
“There is nothing to fear but fear itself, my friend,” I soothed, my voice dripping with false warmth as I moved closer. “Take pleasure in knowing that your name will be written in the stars.”
Now, someone like yourself—who can’t see the Big Picture and isn’t able to appreciate the Journey of Discovery I was ever on—might think Aspus would have been better off having never being born, than to suffer the torment I inflicted upon him in Room 101. And I should probably tell you that I kept Aspus alive during the entire experiment – a critical requirement of the “extraction process.” Why? Because I needed the snakeman to be capable of feeling intense pain—and intense pleasure—throughout the operation, for the greater the force of the pleasure/pain trigger I could inflict upon him, the more substantial the knowledge I could garner from his Adrenochrome. The ability to balance my subject’s life on the razor’s edge of my experiment required the full of my attention—for a single slip of the scalpel would mean death for Aspus and worse yet the loss of knowledge for me.
Gone was the fragile psyche I’d felt while listening to the Reconnaissance Jars. More importantly my mind no longer pitied itself and was instead fully concentrated with the unemotional studiousness of the mad scientist I knew I was.
“I feel so alive!” I rejoiced in my work, but then I calmed myself as I performed my first cut into Aspus’s temple – the scalpel slicing through flesh with a wet squelching sound, whilst a crimson bead welled up against the steel.
Aspus screamed (the first of countless more) as the air grew heavier with the coppery scent of his blood. I paid his wails no mind, and with the torchlight glinting off the instruments, I worked with methodical precision, each incision a step closer to the knowledge I craved.
Very early on, I learned that Aspus had located a diary of some kind from one of the Drrukka leaders—a thrilling revelation, as that tidbit hadn’t come up during the milking. But when I took a quick break to look through the Viperz’s packs, I was unable to locate such a book among the moldy rations, empty water jug, smudged maps, and etched bones. With Aspus’s life so delicately balanced, I paused for a moment and decided to delegate the task to Captain Gol – sending a servant to fetch them while I returned to my experiment, determined to extract every ounce of intelligence from Aspus’s cells to uncover more about this new mystery.
Three days quickly passed in the tedious operation, and yet I’d learned nothing new. Aspus’s body was now fully exposed on the steel table before me, a grotesque tableau of my handiwork. Most of his skin had been carefully flayed, the strips pinned back like a macabre tapestry, and I’d removed over 90% of his muscle and bone, leaving a network of organs and blood vessels—a living, pulsating mass that the genius I was kept alive by a process far too complicated for you to ever hope to understand. I considered my next move, the room was silent, save for the faint, rhythmic drip of condensation from the ceiling and the occasional wheeze of Aspus’s labored breathing, his life sustained by my dark arts, his eyes darting with pain and fear.
<Phooooo.> A small amount of air puffed out of the venous major as I reopened that passageway, intending to explore it once more. Hunched over, I concentrated hard on my next incision, the scalpel poised at just the precise angle to maximize the extraction without killing my victim. Yet my skeletal fingers remained steady despite the blood that coated them. But just as I was about to make the cut…
<Tap. Tap. Tap.> A faint rap on the door shattered my focus, the unexpected sound causing my hand to slip ever so slightly—yet enough to miss my mark and instead slice fully across Aspus’s main artery! I watched in horror as the precious few drops of blood sustaining the Viperz weakly dripped onto the work table, pooling in the trough below, and then the snakeman’s circulatory system failed, his body went limp and he finally escaped my terrible touch.
Thus did Aspus die.
“What? Nooooo!” I roared, the sound shaking the instruments on the cart and causing the beads of Aspus’ blood to dance upon the table. I turned toward the door, my hands and skull dripping with the same blood that stained my tattered robes, the crimson stark against the black fabric. I’m sure I wasn’t a pretty sight when I violently pulled open the door to Room 101, the hinges screaming in protest.
Captain Gol stood there, trying to appear dutiful but clearly scared out of his wits, his crisp uniform quickly marred with sweat stains, his eyes wide with terror. Cowering behind him were a handful of his men, their rusty armor clanking as they shuffled nervously, their faces pale in the dim light of the corridor. “You!” I seethed, grabbing Gol by his neck, lifting the commander clear off the ground as his men backed away in fear, their boots scraping against the stone floor. “How dare you interrupt my work!”
“Grggle, grrg—” Captain Gol coughed, trying to eke out a reply, his face turning purple as he gasped for air. “Rrrch. Arrw.” Desperately, he held up something in his hands, his fingers trembling.
I threw the goblin violently down—<CRACK! SNAP!>—and Captain Gol’s right arm broke in multiple spots, the sound of shattering bone echoing through the corridor as the item he was holding fell from his hand. Given that I could see bone peeking out through multiple breaks in his skin, I suppose his pained reaction was understandable. Reaching down with a blood-slicked hand, I picked up a badly burned and waterlogged book, its pages crumbling at the edges, the leather cover charred and reeking of smoke.
“What is this!” I yelled at Captain Gol, my voice a thunderclap that made the guards flinch, the air growing colder with my rage. “What happened to it?!”
“Ugh. Ooooh,” the Derkka groaned, the pain of his fractured arm overwhelming him as he clutched it with his good hand, his face contorted in agony.
“Speak! I command you!” I bellowed, my hollow eye sockets glowing with malevolent light, the blood on my robes dripping onto the floor with a soft patter.
“I’m sorry, She-, Shedu Mezai,” Captain Gol gasped, forcing himself to stand despite the pain, his courage in front of his men mildly impressing me. Once erect, he adjusted his helmet with his good arm and explained through ragged breaths, “Master, I did not… know it at the time, but this… book was also among your… spy’s belongings.”
“Why did you not give it to me with the rest of his items? And what happened to it?!” I demanded, my patience fraying like a worn thread.
Here, Gol’s backbone must have finally failed him as fear got the best of him. He cowered, taking a few steps backward to rejoin the ranks of his crew, but those men offered no support, pushing their commander forward again. Stumbling to maintain his balance and not knock into me, Captain Gol squeaked, “It seems… well, it appears that… some of my men… got hold of it before they handed the Viperz over to me.”
“And?” I demanded, my voice a low growl, for it was obvious there was more to the tale.
“And, well,” hesitated the commander, before blurting out the entire story, apparently forgetting the pain in his arm in his panic. “Just recently, I caught the vermin playing Bones with the book as the prize! Krag disagreed with Mak’s cast, and there was a fight. Krag ripped the journal from Mak and threw it into the barrelpit blaze so that nobody would win. Some of the pages got burned before I could pull it out and throw water on it.” Then, standing ramrod straight again, he added with a proud smile, “But don’t worry, Sire. I taught my men a lesson they won’t forget—I threw the insubordinates into the fire themselves! See, you can count on me!”
At this point, the rest of the goblin men in the company stood a little straighter and moved forward to stand closer to their leader, trying to share in his limelight, their armor clanking softly in the tense silence. I merely sneered in response, my jagged teeth bared, causing the men to lose their collective courage yet again, their faces paling as they shuffled back.
But then my visage softened, a deceptive calm settling over me as I gingerly held the book aloft, its charred pages crumbling slightly in my bloodied hands. I looked Captain Gol in the eyes, my hollow sockets boring into his soul. “What a great leader you are, Captain Gol,” I said, my voice deceptively smooth, laced with a mockery that sent a chill through the air. “You have indeed done well. Please, accept my thanks.” Then, turning to the guards at the captain’s back, I barked, “You there, take this pitiful excuse for a commander away! Ready him for another Lab room—I think he should be rewarded with a new concoction I have been working on.” To the forsaken leader, I added with a sinister grin, “Yes, my dear Captain Gol, prepare yourself. For you will be the first lucky test subject to receive my… Formula 409! A cleaner that can take care of any mess—even the one you made!”
The guards hesitated for a moment, their eyes darting between me and their commander, but a low growl from my throat spurred them into action. They seized Gol, dragging him away as he clutched his broken arm, his pained gasps echoing down the corridor, the sound fading into the ever-present wails of the damned.
I turned back to the book in my hands, its charred pages a tantalizing mystery, the blood on my robes drying to a dark, rusty stain. The Cauldron seemed to pulse with my renewed determination, the air growing colder, the shadows deeper, as I prepared to unravel the secrets this Drrukka diary might hold—and with them, perhaps, the key to The Grim.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 