Part III: The Plague
Chapter 6: The Test
Location: Kagor
Timeline: Sixth Age of Substance, 46th Year, Spring
Keldar, the Supreme Overlord of the West—my pawn? I knew the former was true; it was time to make the latter a reality.
Everyone on TerrVerde feared Keldar, or at least the legends that surrounded him. He had destroyed all his rival myz, their blood staining the crimson grounds of The Killing Fields, their heads impaled on poles as grim trophies of his dominance. He had conquered Gor, Dim Wood, and Kra, enslaving entire populations in the process, their cries echoing across the lands west of the Rhokkis. He was a major threat to the Drrukka of the Rhokkii Mountains, and the people of Eastern TerrVerde lived in constant dread of what might happen if Keldar’s armies ever crossed the mid-continent peaks. For these reasons and more, Keldar had become the most feared bogeyman for any mortal on the flat earth over the last forty years, his name whispered in terror around campfires and in the shadowed halls of distant kingdoms.
Yet, for all his accomplishments, any history book worth its weight in salt would place an asterisk by Keldar’s name. Why? Because Keldar had it easy.
Recall that I was in Illusia for the past century, Gwar had been on the continent of Ur since the Last Great War fiasco, and as for Inanna, she was still playing the Queen down in Ramos. As a result, Keldar’s rise to power had met with no resistance from any ‘higher’ authority. One reason no other myz had successfully held the title of Supreme Overlord of Kagor, much less The West, was because Gwar (overtly) and I (covertly) often inspired the strongest myz to continually challenge each other, thus keeping any single myz’s hold on the Kagor throne tenuous at best, and short-lived at most.
But without an immortal to answer to, Keldar’s reign had been unfettered and his path to power unchallenged.
Since I was able to hear Keldar’s thoughts without much effort, I knew he knew that his hold on his kingdom was…tenuous.
Had Zar been here, he’d have inspired factions to rebel against me, the Supreme Overlord thought as he sat on his throne, gnawing on the femur of a freshly killed bull, blood dripping down his chin onto the basalt floor below. I don’t know where Zar is and don’t care. May my creator never return!
Forcing myself to overcome my disgust at his poor table manners, I cast my mind further into his world – watching his red gash of a mouth tearing into the raw meat with a wet, ripping sound, I observed Keldar in all his glory as he held court in Zar’s Keep on the island of Kagor. The throne room was a cavernous, stark chamber, its black basalt walls scorched and sooty from the belching fire pits that lined the space, their orange flames casting flickering shadows that danced like specters of the damned. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the heat from the fires made the room swelter despite the storm raging outside, where thunder rolled like the growl of a vengeful god. A thirty-seat slab of a meeting table sat off to the right, its surface scarred and empty, a testament to the lack of true counsel Keldar entertained. Two black-armored myz stood guard at the main doorway a hundred feet to the fore, their eyes glinting with a feral intensity, while two more guarded each of the rear doors leading deeper into the kastle, their heavy boots scuffing softly on the stone floor.
As for Keldar, the brute wore no crown, carried no scepter, and his simple wooden throne lacked ostentation, its surface rough-hewn and unadorned, a stark contrast to the opulence I enjoyed at Nektar’s Cauldron. Yet Keldar was an intimidating presence nonetheless (at least for mortals). Like the rest of the myz I had designed, Keldar to be huge physical specimen. His brethren typically stood over seven feet tall and weighed more than 25 stones—but Keldar was a giant even among his kind, a towering figure of raw power – rivaling even the legendary Uruk among his kind. With muscles bulging beneath his dusky gray skin, he stood two hands taller and many stones heavier than most of his rivals. And while most myz knights wore their trademark black armor, Keldar sat shirtless, his massive chest bared like a beast of the wild, an animal-kingdom witness to his claim as ruler.
At ease upon the royal dais, his black leather breeks strained to contain the rippling muscles of his legs, the only symbol of power he displayed being a silver sword leaning against his throne—a gift from Zar, given for a favor Keldar had performed in his distant ‘youth.’ I knew all about that blade, though I wasn’t aware of the specific favor that earned it. It was a typical two-handed broadsword, devoid of devices or gem encrustations, but cast in silver metal that gave it an almost blinding brilliance when it caught the firelight, its gleam a sharp contrast to the throne room’s gloom. What impressed me wasn’t its flashiness but the magic imbued within it—a spell I had cast at Gwar’s request back when he made the wretched thing.
Gwar had been so excited about forging the blade and he was prattling on about it endlessly, that I agreed to enchant it just to shut him up. I imbued the weapon with The Bloodthirst Curse – a dark enchantment that fed on the violence of battle. With each enemy Keldar slayed, the sword absorbed their blood, making the blade glow with a crimson aura that temporarily enhanced Keldar’s strength and speed, thus making him an even more ferocious killing machine. However, the magic I provided had a secret drawback – the more blood the sword consumed, the more it drove Keldar into a frenzied rage (thus diminishing his ability to think strategically and making him prone to reckless attacks). I might have overlooked telling Gwar about that little flaw, and therefore he never told Keldar about the it either; but I doubt either of them would have cared – for that blade surely aided Keldar’s blood-soaked rise to power.
“Get me more of this carcass,” Keldar barked to a trembling servant, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber. “And a goblet of bull’s blood too!” Then, to himself, I heard him muse, Would that The Shaitan stay gone, and there will be none to spoil my plans.
The irony of his thought brought a wicked smile to my skeletal face—funny that he should bring me up, just as I prepared to make my presence known.
Two Derkka advisors stood before The Overlord, advising him on some problem in The Dim Wood Forest, their voices quivering as they spoke, their eyes darting nervously to the femur in Keldar’s hands. Keldar barely listened, up to his eyes in raw beef, the blood smearing his gray skin like war paint. I need action! Something to get my blood racing again, I heard him think, his impatience a palpable force in the room.
I watched as the Overlord brooded, his melon-sized head topped with a mound of jet-black hair, his oversized black eyes swallowing all he surveyed with a predatory intensity. His flat nose and red gash of a mouth made him far from beautiful—not even I, his creator, had designed the myz with beauty in mind—but if nothing else, mortals feared the sight of him, his visage a nightmare carved in flesh.
“…and that, my lord, is why we must—” One of the goblin men hesitated, catching the wicked expression on Keldar’s face, his voice shrinking to a squeak. “Sire?”
Silence was the only reply, the fire pits belching smoke toward the already sooty roof, the air growing heavier with tension. The lack of cacophony from their voices finally snapped Keldar out of his daydream. “Do what you think is best,” he grumbled, his tone a low rumble of dismissal. “Now be gone!”
The advisors scurried away, all too happy to live another day—no easy feat, given that the life expectancy of those who previously held this unenviable position was less than a year at best.
Later, when The Supreme Overlord had retired to his private quarters, ready to end another tiresome day of doing nothing, I decided the time was right to grace Keldar with something a bit more exciting—a visit from me!
His chambers were as stark as the throne room, the basalt walls unadorned save for a single torch flickering in an iron sconce, its light casting jagged shadows across the room. A simple bed of furs lay in one corner, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and sweat, the distant rumble of thunder seeping through the walls from the storm outside.
Then it was that I appeared to him via a vision – showcasing my most ghoulish self to the myz ruler—my primeval skeleton draped in robes so black they seemed to suck the light from Keldar’s torch.
“My Lord!” Keldar jumped out of bed, his massive frame tensing, his black eyes wide with a mix of shock and defiance. “What are you doing here?”
The hood of my garment shrouded my skull so that only the hellfire glow of my eyes shone from the void where my face should have been. The temperature in the room plummeted, the torch flame flickering wildly as if in fear, the shadows deepening with my presence. “Maybe I should be asking you the same question, Keldar,” I replied in a whisper, forcing the myz to draw closer to hear me, my voice a chilling hiss that seemed to slither through the air.
Confused, Keldar didn’t immediately answer, clearly trying to process the situation. Then I saw him do something rather interesting— regaining his composure and remembering that he was now The Supreme Overlord, he sat back down on his bed – apparently trying to show he was confident enough to face off against an immortal (although I noticed him unconsciously pull his silver sword closer). He responded, “I don’t understand, Shaitan. I am The Supreme Overlord of the West. I united Kagor, Gor, and… even,” he paused, a flicker of defiance in his eyes before powering on, “Kra… into MY kingdom. And I will conquer more soon.”
“And I am so impressed,” I replied sarcastically, my hollow eye sockets flaring with green light, the air crackling with my disdain. “In any event, I will need you to interrupt your own plans and perform a task for me.”
“What is more important than what Zar wants of me?” Keldar’s hand gripped his sword tightly, his deep breaths causing striations in the muscles of his chest and arms, his anger a palpable force that seemed to make the torchlight flicker. He wasn’t used to being talked down to, and his defiance was as clear as the storm outside.
I chuckled at his stupidity, the sound a low, grating rasp that echoed through the chamber. “Lord Keldar, yours is not to question why, yours is but to do or die. Remember that now.”
“And you want…?” Keldar grated, his chest still heaving, his black eyes locked on mine with a boldness that bordered on insolence.
“Two things. First, I need to know what you know about an object of mine that I seem to have… misplaced.”
“What is it?” Keldar’s curiosity seemed to calm his anger, though I noted he wasn’t capable of holding two thoughts at once, his mind a blunt instrument compared to my own.
“A common dagger. I value it more for sentimental reasons than anything else, for I use it in my… experiments,” I lied, my voice smooth as I tested him.
“We have lots of daggers,” The Overlord said cautiously, clearly not buying my story, his tone guarded. “What kind you—”
“No, that’s all right,” I interrupted, my patience thinning. “The one I seek is rather unique. No special power, mind you, just unusual-looking in the manner I made it. Specifically, it’s a blade made of bone—twisted bone. All one piece, with the hilt an extension of the handle-blade bone that juts out at opposing angles to form an upside-down ‘V’. The blade itself is a corkscrew spiral of bone that twists its way in width, from the size of a fist, down through its coils, to an almost invisible tip. Are you following all this? It’s unique. You’d know it if you’d seen it. And just to be clear, the weapon is obviously not practical for use in combat, but for me… it has its purpose.”
“Don’t know it,” Keldar replied quickly—perhaps too quickly, his matter-of-fact tone sounding a bit too guarded for my liking, though I couldn’t tell if I was imagining it.
Did I just reveal too much? I wondered, my skeletal fingers tightening beneath my robes. Keldar sat there, staring at me, and it seemed he might be wondering why I—an ultra-powerful immortal—would question him about an obvious Weapon of Power – namely Dagaal. Did he understand the ramifications of the situation? I let the green of my eyes glow brighter, cracking the bones in my jaw as I grated my teeth, peering hard into Keldar’s soul, the air growing colder with my scrutiny.
The myz just sat there, taking it all, staring back at me with a boldness that was far too brazen for my taste, his defiance a silent challenge that hung heavy in the room.
I hated to lose the power struggle, but I didn’t have time to play games, so I broke the silence. “And number two,” I moved to the next subject, determined not to utter another word about Dagaal lest Keldar speak of it to Zar. “I’m pleased to see that you’ve gained so much experience in dealing with humans—though I must confess, I’m not happy about this fact at all. However, the work you’ve done in Gor and Kra has been… noted.” I continued, my voice a low, insidious hiss that seemed to slither through the smoky air of Keldar’s chambers. “Yet I’d like to challenge you to do more than just muscle a few goblins into performing your slave labors. Instead, I’d like to see if you can send some of your most trusted myz to infiltrate the cities of The East—where our influence has not yet reached. My plan is to destabilize their leaders, sow chaos in their streets, and prepare the way for a greater conquest.”
Keldar’s black eyes narrowed, his massive hand still gripping the hilt of his silver sword, the blade’s surface glinting ominously in the dim light. “East?” he growled, voice deep, words rough. “Far lands. My warriors are stretched thin. Why risk my best for you?” He was no fool—he knew there was a catch, and his defiance hung heavy in the air, a challenge to my authority.
I tilted my hooded skull, the green fire of my eyes flaring brighter, the temperature in the room dropping further until Keldar’s breath fogged in the chill. “Because, Lord Keldar,” I replied, my tone laced with mock sweetness, “you may be Supreme Overlord of the West, but the East holds riches and power beyond your current grasp—power that could secure your legacy for centuries. Or do you think your reign will last without the favor of those who shaped you?” I let the words hang, a veiled threat wrapped in temptation, knowing his pride would bristle at the implication of his dependency on me.
Keldar’s jaw tightened, his mouth twisting into a scowl. He questions my strength? I heard him think, his mind opening to me like a book written in blood, his anger a bitter tang I could almost taste. But if I get The East falls, none will challenge me. His ambition warred with his suspicion, and I knew I had him on the edge.
“You talk power, Shaitan. But I ain’t your dog,” Keldar clipped. “Not sure I trust you.” His hand tightened on his sword, the Bloodthirst Curse within the blade stirring faintly, a crimson sheen flickering along its edge as if eager for violence.
I chuckled, the sound a grating rasp that made the torch flame tremble. “Trust, Keldar? I offer something better—certainty. Serve me in this, and I will ensure your enemies in the West remain… preoccupied. Rebellions can be quelled before they spark, and your throne will stand unthreatened while your forces move east. Refuse, and I might find another to take your place—one more eager to claim the spoils of the East.” I paused, letting the threat sink in, then softened my tone, dangling the bait. “Besides, I know your heart, Keldar. You crave battle, the thrill of conquest. The East will give you a challenge worthy of your name—a chance to prove you are more than a mere warlord clinging to a crumbling island.”
Keldar’s mind became a storm of conflicting desires—pride, greed, and the ever-present hunger for glory that I had woven into the myz’s very being. He wants to control me, he thought, his suspicion still sharp, but if I conquer East, I’ll bury this blade in his old bones. Finally, he leaned back, his massive frame settling against the furs, though his grip on the sword didn’t loosen. “Fine, Shaitan,” he grunted. “I send my knights East. Not ‘cause you say but ’cause I want them those lands.” He bared his teeth in a feral grin, a predator sizing up a rival, but I knew I had him—his ambition had overridden his defiance, just as I’d planned.
I nodded, the green fire in my eye sockets dimming slightly, though my skeletal grin remained hidden beneath my hood. “Wise choice, Overlord,” I said, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Here’s what you’ll do…”
As I began to outline the infiltration, the island’s storm outside raged on, lightning flashing through the narrow window slits, illuminating Keldar’s scarred, gray visage—a fitting backdrop to the dangerous alliance I had just forged, one that would serve my quest for The Grim, whether Keldar realized it or not.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 