Location: Fubar, Orkney
Time: Sixth Age, Summer 49
Ah, yes. The pomp and circumstance of mortal rulers. A truly pathetic spectacle, if you ask me. In this case it was the little despot, Diked Dinus, who stumbled through his moment of glory. It was like watching a newborn chick trying to crow. All awkward flapping and not a single note of command. The whole affair, from the clumsy king to the honey-tongued viperz at his side. A farce, yes, but a necessary one.
“…and so, I, Diked Dinus The First, the King of all Orkney, now decree that, ah, the Mountains of Akka shall be…”
He paused, a flicker of panic in his watery eyes as he fumbled for the right card in the deck his advisor, Ramssee, had prepared for him. The hall was a grand affair, I’ll grant them that much. The Festival Hall of Fubar was a cavernous space, carved from the very living stone of the Orkney cliffs. Banners of gold and green hung from the high arches, their fabric heavy with the weight of ancient dust. The air, thick with the scent of spiced wine, roasted boar, and the nervous sweat of the assembled aristocracy, seemed to press in on the poor boy. They were all there, these “important personages of status,” their finery a ridiculous mockery of true power. They sat at tables groaning with the remnants of their feast—glistening haunches of meat, wheels of creamy cheese, and chalices overflowing with ale—but their attention, for now, was on the boy king.
They hadn’t seen him at his coronation, poor dears. The weather, as the mortal scribe had noted, was not accommodating. As if weather is a random thing! Please. A simple manipulation of the lesser Elementals—a bit of wind here, a dash of snow there—was all it took to ensure the little king’s debut was as anticlimactic as possible. I needed them to see him now, at his weakest, to fully appreciate the “saving grace” I had prepared for them.
Ramssee sat on the dais to the king’s right, a portrait of controlled disdain. Oh, he hated this. I could feel the simmer of his arrogance, as he had to watch a lesser man take the throne that he wanted. Patience, the viperz reminded himself. All in due time.
Ramssee had a singular talent for being in the right place at the right time. He had served the late King Karl and had then ingratiated himself with the new, pathetic heir. It had been a simple matter to put the right thoughts into his head, to whisper just the right words into his dreams. A subtle push here, a gentle suggestion there. To a mortal, it feels like a revelation, an idea born of their own genius. To me, it is the simple, beautiful art of puppetry. And Ramssee, with his flowing, almost hypnotic rhetoric, was the perfect puppet.
Diked finally found his place. “…ah, let’s see, yes…Mountains of Akka shall be annexed into the Kingdom of Orkney.”
A collective intake of breath rippled through the crowd. I could hear the silent questions buzzing in their minds. The Mountains of Akka? The place of the Plague? The home of the dwarves? Oh, the delightful terror! It tasted like a fine, dark wine.
Diked, the poor, clueless boy, saw the fear on their faces and looked down to Ramssee, a silent plea for rescue. The viper simply nodded, his face a mask of stone. Continue, my little puppet king. You are serving your purpose quite nicely.
“Be not afraid of Akka, my people,” the king read, his voice gaining a slight, unconvincing tremor. “For the legends about that locale are not true. Ah, there is no plague waiting to threaten us. Instead, there is only…” he flipped the card, and I swear, I could feel the sigh of relief that washed over him as he saw the word gold in bold. “gold! Yes, GOLD! And lots of it, just sitting there abandoned, um, waiting to be claimed.”
He went on, delivering Ramssee’s meticulously crafted rhetoric about beating rival kingdoms to the prize. The mortals shifted in their chairs, a nervous, disbelieving rustle. They had been told these stories since they were children, tales of a blight that consumed those who dared venture too deep into the mountain’s heart. They had been taught to fear the stone-skinned men, the dwarves who carved their halls deep within the earth. A few stammered words from a boy who could barely tie his own shoes were not enough to erase decades of ingrained terror.
An anonymous call from the corner of the room pierced the tense silence. “But, how can we be sure it’s safe?”
The floodgates had opened. “Yes, what about the plague?” “And, what will happen when the dwarves return?” The questions were a barrage of panicked sound, and the little king’s face went white. He was a creature of comfort and control, a boy who had spent his life surrounded by sycophants and servants. He had no idea how to handle true, unscripted dissent. He was a child holding a scepter, and the crowd was a gathering storm he couldn’t possibly placate.
Ramssee smiled. Showtime. The viperz rose from his chair. The crowd, in their frenzy, had nearly forgotten him. This, of course, was exactly what he wanted. He moved to the front of the dais, his presence a stark contrast to the whimpering child behind him. He didn’t shout; he simply raised his hands, a gesture of quiet, commanding authority. The silence that followed was a testament to the power of his persona—a persona I had helped him build, of course.
“Great citizens of Orkney, hear me—I am Ramssee, formerly the trusted King’s Aide to Karl, and now The Chief Advisor to King Diked, and Royal Steward of Orkney!” He recited his titles with an almost religious fervor. He truly believed them. How sweet. How useful.
“Orkney, do not fear the destiny that awaits you!” His eyes, I noted with a flicker of genuine amusement, spun with a mix of red and black, just as I had taught him. A little trick of the light, a minor illusion, but to these simple mortals, it was the mark of divine favor. It was a sign that the gods themselves had blessed his words. The power I had given him, a small portion of my own, pulsed through him, coating every syllable. He wasn’t just speaking; he was persuading.
He addressed one of the loudest dissenters directly. “How do I know this, good sir? Because, I have been to Akka myself!”
And there it was. The lie. The glorious, beautiful, necessary lie. I felt a surge of professional pride. He had learned his lessons well. He had gone to Akka, of course, but only in his dreams. I had shown him visions of the place, not as a desolate, plague-ridden wasteland, but as a glittering treasure trove, abandoned and ripe for the taking. He had woken convinced of his own journey, and his conviction was the fuel for his lie.
“Do I appear sick? Do I look like I have a plague?” he challenged, turning to show them his flawless, unblemished skin. The magic was a subtle current now, a soft hum of hypnotic influence. He was a master of his craft, my little Ramssee. He knew how to sell the dream.
Then he moved on to the dwarves, those surly little creatures that even I found tedious. “Where have they been all this time? Why, it’s been almost fifty years since we last saw a little giant in these parts, right? Surely, if they still had a claim to this land they would have sent a representative to us out of respect, right?”
Again, a brilliant tactic. He wasn’t just lying; he was appealing to their mortal sense of ego. The dwarves haven’t bothered with you, so they must not care about the land. He was insulting their rivals and making them feel important, all at the same time.
“That’s because the dwarves have abandoned this area. It’s too far from their homes, they don’t want to be bothered with this far-away locale. Why, it’s too cold for them, they are not hearty men like us!” He pounded his chest, and I could feel the ripple of pride wash over the crowd, a warm, fuzzy feeling that made them susceptible to his every suggestion. They smiled, they nodded. They were sold.
“My people, there are times in History that grant us the ability to stand on the very threshold of Greatness,” he preached, his voice rising to a crescendo. “This is such a time for Us! Verily, we can sit back, shackled into non-action by our Fear. Or, we can rise up, into the World Society that is waiting for us to emerge, and take our place among the Capitals of the Planet! Akka provides us with the opportunity to do just that. Come with me…with us, as we lead you to Glory!”
The cheers erupted, a deafening wave of sound that shook the very foundations of the hall. It was a standing ovation, a thunderous roar of newfound courage and ambition. They had bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. They believed they were on the cusp of greatness. They believed Akka was a golden prize, a gift from the gods.
And in a way, it was. A gift from a god, anyway. A gift with strings, of course. For my little mortals don’t realize that the “gold” is not what I’m after. Gold is for peasants. I am after something far more… precious. Akka was a nexus of power for it was the location of The Grim. It was thus a place of death, not gold. And the people of Fubar, in their foolish, greedy haste, are about to send their best and brightest to their doom. And to me.
Ramssee, bathing in the glorious applause, smiled a secret smile. I could feel his triumph, a delicious little tremor of ambition. It will be time to say goodbye to Diked soon, he thought.
Oh, he thinks he’s so clever. He thinks he’s the master of this game. He has no idea he’s just another pawn on my board, and I, Azazel, am about to make my next move.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 