Location: Kagor and Gor
Timeline: Year 46, Summer to Fall
Kagor is the “Demon Isle” that the humans of Gor so rightly feared. On a particular summer day the air was thick with the stench of ambition. Overlord Keldar, that magnificent slab of muscle and malevolence who was the self-styled Supreme Overlord of The West, was stadning upon a high cliff, his gaze fixed on the churning waters of the Stormy Seas. Below him, a galley, crewed by a dozen Derkka slaves in chains, bobbed restlessly. And by his side, ten of his finest myz knights stood at attention – a collection of hulking, gray-skinned brutes ready to unleash hell upon the flat earth. Like Keldar, each of the myz were a testament to my genius, a testament to what can be achieved when a species is bred for but one purpose: war.
You’ll recall that earlier that spring, I had given Keldar a test. A simple task – to infiltrate the cities of The East, to destabilize their leaders, sow chaos in their streets, and prepare the way for a greater conquest by Keldar’s armies. It was a mission for the “glory of the myz” – or so I led him to believe.
He, in his pride, assured himself he was using my idea for his own ends. The fool even came to believe the mission was his own idea – hd had no idea that I had, for months since our meeting, been subtly whispering the details of this plan into his thick skull. I had convinced him to send his best myz on a covert mission—no armor, no nitemares, just a handful of myz passing among the mortals, laying the seeds for Keldar’s future assault.
A ludicrous plan, of course, one that was doomed to fail in its stated purpose – but what did I care if Keldar’s ultimately goals were met or not? I had my own secret agenda and I only need one of these ten myz for that – and I’d already made plans to make sure that he would succeed!
“Hear me, myz,” Keldar roared as he addressed his myz. “Travel to the mainland then split. Some go South, some North, some east. Go till you reach lands not yet subject to Keldar. Learn their ways of warfare, their army’s strengths and the weaknesses. Terrorize their lands but don’t get caught. Have your fun, then en return to Keldar with what you learn. Failure is not an option.”
His eyes, cold and dark, swept over his chosen knights. “First challenge,” he continued, a grim smile on his brutish face, “No nitemares. You ride the boat, then figure it out from there. No go!”
A chorus of grunts and low growls rumbled through the group as they parted from Keldar. The nitemares were the signature war horse of the myz – the very thought of not having their mounts for such a long trip was insulting. More than a few grumbled under the breadth about feeling like slaves, but they knew better than to question their Overlord out loud for the impaled myz on stakes that lined The Killing Fields were a grim reminder of the price of insubordination.
One by one, the myz descended the craggy cliffside. Their massive bodies were a sight to behold, even in the absence of their formal gear. As the evil knights took their places in the ship, the slaves at the oars groaned – for every one of them knew the myz would kill them once they reached Gor. Once on board, a towering knight with eyes like chips of obsidian, look up at Keldar. This was the myz Kaoz and he said, “We are ready, Overlord.” To which the others grumbled their agreement.
Keldar nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. “Go. Succeed. And return to me with the knowledge of your enemies.”
The galley ride was a thing of pure, unadulterated misery. The slaves, terrified of their cargo, pulled at the oars with a desperate energy. The Stormy Seas, as they were so aptly named, were a brutal expanse of choppy waves and merciless wind. The little vessel was tossed about like a child’s toy. And for all their fearsome might, everyone on board (including all the myz) was racked by the most pathetic of human ailments: seasickness. It was a beautiful thing to witness, their green-tinged faces and retching bodies. It was the first step in breaking them down, in reminding them that for all their power, they were still flesh and blood.
The voyage took nearly a month, a testament to the treacherous nature of those waters. But eventually, blessedly, they set foot on dry land. The galley landed at the port of Nazir, on the southernmost tip of Gor. The myz, for all their shared suffering, did not exchange a single pleasantry before parting ways. Each went his own direction – each a singular, driven engine of destruction focused on the task at hand.
Of the ten myz who Keldar sent out, I only cared about one – the myz Kaoz – for he was the pawn I’d identified ahead of time and for which I’d arranged matters such that he would be traveling north towards my lands.
Now this Kaoz was brute who rivalled even Keldar in size. He reminded me of one of my old favorites – the legendary myz Uruk who’d become famous back in The War of the Ghast. Although Kaoz wasn’t quite as big as the mighty Uruk had been, he was a monster in his own right. At nearly seven feet tall and weighing over 17 stones, he was a giant among myz and men – a walking fortress, a harbinger of doom.
When Kaoz parted from his mates he turned north. And as he walked, I knew that every step he took was bringing him closer to me.
Dressed in a simple burlap tunic and cowhide pants, Kaoz was a perfect blend of power and discretion, a walking contradiction that only I could truly appreciate. On his back, he carried a heavy rucksack and the massive broadsword that was his constant companion.
He spent the rest of that summer traversing the fields of Gor, the fabled “Land of Milk and Honey”. It was once the breadbasket of the Derrka empire, a fertile land that still fed their civilization, decaying as it was. The passage was easy for Kaoz – the fields ripe with a bounty that belied the dark history of the land – and within a month Kaoz reached Babel.
Ah, Babel. A name that now evokes derision and disgust. But once, long ago, it was Babelon, the crown jewel of the Derkka empire. I recall it well. Under the rule of the mighty Garrick of the Golden Hand, it became a beacon of light and culture, a city of soaring spires and intricate canals, a true wonder of your world. The empire of the Derkka under Garrick eventually spanned all of Gor and Kra, a vast and powerful civilization.
But all things, even empires, must fall. And in my world, they fall with a satisfying crash. I had taken away my protection from Garrick and instead allowed him to be ground up in a final encounter with his rival Hacktor Derkillez – the king of the accursed Drokka dwarves. With Garrick fallen and so many of the Derkka lost to war, I watched with glee as their once-great city descended into a putrid wasteland. Eventually Babelon replaced its glory with filth, its art with chaos, and its unity with confusion – in other words it became like so many of your lost civilizations of humanity – destroyed from the inside out.
It’s true that Babel was still the home of the Derkka kings at the time of this writing, but like the Drrukka, that people had never fully recovered their glory after the devastation of The War of the Ghast. Add to that the coming of the myz and Keldar’s dominance of them for decades and the once proud men of Derk were second rate citizens on TerrVerde at best. Oh the Babelonians (as they still called themselves) were still better off than their Common Derk brothers and within the city of Babel the people there still had a caste system in which the richest of the rich continued to enjoy lives of luxury, but most of the population of Babel now lived little better than the serfs of your Middle Ages.
And just in case In case you don’t remember your Derkka lore from prior books in my series, let me give you a few reminders on why the people of Derk and those within Babel look like ‘goblins.’
First off, recall that Derk was a son of the man Kane who was himself believed to be the first born son of Adam and Eve (but who was in reality the offspring of Lucifer and Eve as I explained to you in The Hidden Histories). You’ll remember that I convinced Kane and his sons to worship my made up god Baal and that Baal commanded Kane to lead his sons Derk and Drok away from the clans of Adam’s people and instead to the new continent of TerrVerde. At that time, all the people of Kane still looked like other humans of the day.
Remember that when the Derk and Drok finally reached Gor, the Derk enslaved their Drok brothers and held them in bondage for hundreds of years. This was the cause of the intense hatred between the people of these two clans. Remember, the Drok finally escaped (with the help of their Deliverer Ajax) and built their homes inside the caves of The Rhokki Mountains – where they then took Rhokii as their god – even though the god they knew as Rhokki was really good old ME in disguise because the real lumenarc named Rhokii was too busy trying to rescue his love Gaia (whom Lucifer and I imprisoned at the Magnetic center of the flat earth in order to give your world life – another tale told in The Hidden Histories).
Now centuries of life underground eventually morphed the Drokka into the dwarf-like creatures they became – a completely natural phenomenon. Yet what happened to the men of Derk was far from natural – for the Derkka changed from a race of people who looked like other men into their goblin form because of a horrific curse by the jealous god Baal (again yours truly) who accused the Derk of worshiping false gods and deformed them as a result.
As my Baal said at the time, ‘I am a jealous god. You shall have no other gods besides me. Lest you forget, my curse shall always remind you.’ Although generations of supplication to Baal (and a promise to worship my Baal as their sole god) later caused me to relent Baal’s wrath towards Derk’s people – even then my forgiveness was tempered. For rather than actually cure them of their disease, I instead chose a different path.
As I explained before, back then I conducted some genetic experiments with the Derkka people that lived in their capital city of Babel – I crossed some of them with a handful of Amorosi I’d captured and thereby introduced the Amorosi traits into the Derkka gene pool. Things didn’t quite work out as I’d planned – oh it’s true certain Amorosi characteristics became hereditary in those Derkka who lived in Babel, and those clans of Derk soon became leaner, taller, and slightly more beautiful (read: less ugly) than their more ‘Common’ brethren from the countrysides, but even these so-called “Babel Derkka” were still grotesque goblin-like creatures. However, I was intrigued by fact that the Babel Derk also grew more intelligent than the rest of their clans.
Over time the men of Babel built their city into quite an empire – so, wanting to test their intelligence, I decided to toy with them a bit – appearing to them as the “Son of Baal” figure of their religion (whom they named Nektar), I offered them a unique solution – one I called The Glamour — a magical aura that I cast over the Derkka of Babel. The Glamour caused everyone who was not from the city of Babel to see the men and women of Babel as the most beautiful people in the world.
At first the people of Babel were delighted and they praised Nektar for his help. Unfortunately they quickly discovered there was a bit of a catch — for when these “Babelonions” looked at their own reflections, they saw the truth of their appearance, and knew they were still ugly.
To overcome this flaw, the merchants of Babel created Skin Masks – pieces of flesh that the people wore to cover their deformities – it became big business for a time. Yet even that trade perished during the War of the Ghast and after that dreadful time it never fully recovered. Thus the Babel Derk remained goblins – although still better looking and more intelligent ones than their Common Derkka from the countrysides.
It was the Babel Derk that Kaoz would soon be interacting with.
As Kaoz approached the city of Babel, he saw the remnants of its former glory. It was a tiered city, its towers still soaring to dizzying heights, but they were now built of mud and dung. The spires, once glorious monuments to human ingenuity, were now crooked and broken, many having fallen to the ground in a testament to the Derkka’s poor craftsmanship.
Like I said, the society of Babel had fallen a long way since their hey days described in the period prior to The War of the Ghast. With their minds so addled, each generation had grown less intelligence. They now lived with but a fanatical desire to continually shroud themselves in “luxury” – which to them was a mish-mash of trash garnered from anywhere they could find it in an effort to continually upgrade their holdings to something “more flattering.” In a strange quick of fate, countless Babel Derk began taking the name “Joneses” and loved nothing more than to outdo their neighbors by showcasing how much they owned to the world.
Kaoz observed this phenomena in action as he saw scores of Derkka scuttling about, their homes nothing more than piles of trash and mud. They squabbled and fought over scraps of nothing, their lives a constant struggle for the worthless. He watched with silent contempt as a clan of Derk’s shrieked at a neighboring family, convinced their piece of rotting fruit was stolen. One of them, a woman with a single, massive braid of human hair, threw a mud brick at her rival. It missed, of course, and instead slammed into a rickety hut, causing the roof to collapse with a sad, dusty sigh.
But worst of all was the stench. It was a foul, putrid miasma that clung to the air and assaulted the senses. Even a battle-hardened warrior like Kaoz couldn’t help but retch. The city was a monument to decay, a festering wound on the face of the world. He wound his way through the alleys, his senses assaulted at every turn. The putrid smell of feces and rubbish pummeled him.
What amused me most was their language. Although Kaoz didn’t know it, back during the time of Babelon’s height, the city had been filled with a higher class of Derkka more beautiful than these singular goblins the myz saw now. Those “Glamourized” Derkka of the upper class spoke a single, unified tongue. But when Garrick fell I’d long since taken away the magic of The Glamour. Acting under the persona of their god Baal, I’d punished the Derkka for their failures in the war against their rivals. And since then, thanks to Baal’s intervention, every person seemed to speak a different version of the Gut language, a discordant, chaotic babble that made no sense. It was a perfect reflection of their confused and broken minds, a cacophony of futility. And Kaoz couldn’t make heads or tales of it all.
Now Kaoz had originally come through Babel planning to replenish his supplies, but that plan was quickly discarded. His sole desire now was to make it to the northern gate and exit Babel as fast as possible. Head down, he began bullying his way through the crowded streets. The disturbance he caused eventually got him surrounded by a liveried band of hapless Derk soldiers, their raggedy uniforms stained with a mix of sweat, filth, and unusual patches of orange that were hopelessly out of place.
“Out of Kaoz’ way,” the myz warned, his hand reaching for his broadsword.
“We’re to take you to King Qufic’s palace,” a fat blob of a goblin man blurted out from the front of the soldiers, hands raised to ward off a blow. Although his uniform was the most dirty of all, it also showcased the most orange, and interestingly enough, the man spoke a dialect of Gut Kaoz could understand. “His majesty been expecting you. Please join.”
“Kaoz have no time. Move. Now.”
“King Qufic has something you’ll want,” the goblin persisted, the medals on his filthy uniform jiggling with his every word and the fat folds of his neck spilling over his chest. “King Qufic offers…information. Secret information.”
The unexpected opportunity intrigued Kaoz. He realized this might be the first step in completing his assignment to bring back covert intelligence to Overlord Keldar. He reluctantly agreed to follow the deformed men to Qufic’s castle.
Kaoz had followed the guards through the tiered levels of the city, their escorts huffing with exhaustion by the end. The journey to the center of Babel was a descent into a world of concentrated madness. The trash piles and the stench grew bigger with every step. The refuse was no longer just refuse; it was a testament to the human desire to hoard and to dominate. The air grew thick with the cloying odor of rot and decay, and Kaoz felt his cold, hardened soul rebel against the assault on his senses.
But as he traveled, he saw something else. The colors of the city changed. In the city proper, everything was a mix of browns, blacks, greens, and grays, the typical hues of the filth the Derks collected. But towards the center, the colors became vibrant with reds and especially orange. Giant swaths of tattered orange cloth could be seen covering every city wall.
“Why orange?” Kaoz grunted to his escort. The goblins only laughed in reply, their mirthless cackles echoing in the fetid air. The humor was, of course, lost on a myz, but I understood it perfectly. The orange was the badge of their insanity, the one unifying element in a world of utter discord.
You see, like many humans, King Qufic had a fetish – he loved orange velvet. And with the means to satisfy his craving, he luxuriated inside a castle whose rooms were covered in every shade of orange velvet imaginable. Although the king had also commanded his servants to cover all of Babel the same way, Qufic never came out of his castle to check – preferring instead to spend his time either dressing up the girls of his harem in various shades of his beloved fabric or else trying on the fabrics himself and observing his beauty in his priceless Mersian Mirror, all while snacking on apricots, carrots, mangoes…(well, you get the idea).
As the group ascended the last hill and entered through a wall entirely covered by orange velvet, Kaoz couldn’t help but gasp at the view. The towering palace of trash that stood before him was unlike any the myz had ever seen. The spires of Qufic’s castle rose to dizzying heights, many so high that Kaoz lost the sight of them in the clouds. And everything, EVERYTHING, was covered in orange velvet.
<poosssh…pooossh> With the steeples of Qufic’s palace sickeningly swaying in the winds, bricks of mud regularly fell from above, crashing into the grounds of the courtyard.
“Kaoz not go there!” The myz stopped his escort, well outside the range of the falling bricks.
“Have no fear,” a new voice replied as another Derk emerged from a passageway in the palace walls. Unlike the other goblins Kaoz had seen, this goblin was different. He was thinner than most of his colleagues, and strangely enough his fat was somehow vertical. He also spoke the Common language, one Kaoz also understood. “King Qufic is presently…occupied. I’ve been instructed to give you this.” The goblin man handed over a surprisingly clean scroll, its seal unbroken.
Kaoz grunted as he took the message and backed away as a new visitor emerged from the palace.
<poosssh…pooossh…pooosh> With more bricks falling from above, Kaoz watched an insanely obese Derk nimbly dodge the shrapnel while carrying out a box of supplies. The monster dropped the box at the myz’s feet and then ran back to the palace gates.
Pulling the box further out of range of the falling missiles, Kaoz leaned down to inspect it. It contained the exact mix of food, water, and supplies he would need for the next leg of his journey. My gifts, of course. My little reminders that I was watching.
<poosssh…pooossh…poosssh…pooossh…poossh!>
“Tha-” the myz stopped, looking around he discovered that everyone was gone. Alone in the courtyard, he broke the seal on the scroll and began reading. The message was simple, but cryptic:
I will find you in The Dim Wood.
Kaoz didn’t waste time trying to figure out what it meant. Fear wasn’t in his nature, and the thought of a new battle, of new blood to be spilled, excited him. He refilled his packs and eagerly scampered away from Qufic’s falling freakshow of a castle. He had reached the northern gates by nightfall, all too happy to leave Babel behind.
Kaoz, for all his strength, was a simple creature. He saw only the surface of things. The test, the journey, the strange city, the cryptic message—he believed it was all a part of his mission for Keldar. He had no idea that he was walking a path I had forged for him. The road to The Dim Wood was a one-way ticket to his glorious, twisted destiny.
My plan was unfolding beautifully. The pieces were moving into place. And Kaoz, my special little project, was marching to his own destruction, all while believing he was finally free.
What will happen in The Dim Wood? Let’s find out…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 