Location: Akka Mountains & Fubar
Time: Sixth Age, Winter 49 to Spring 50
So it was that Ramssee faced his first true setback. The Akka mines were not so easy to open. The Fubar Forty-Niners, for all their valiant effort, had run into a wall of stone they couldn’t possibly move. Arwin’s seal [placed there when that dying king and the last of his dwarves ravaged by Aspus’ plague decided to loc themselves in to The Deepest Depths in order to protect The Grim] was proving to be an obstacle that was nigh impossible.
But Ramssee wasn’t about to let this stop him. The viperz was intelligent – I’d made him that way – and as such, he was quick to realize that the best plans were not rigid constructs of unyielding will. They were instead fluid, like water. A great river, when it meets an obstacle, doesn’t simply stop. It finds another way around. It carves a new path. Thus Ramssee vowed to become a master of fluidity.
“A year?” The roar came from Kaoz. He had now seen the problem firsthand during a secret visit to the mines. He now knew the scale of the obstacle, yet his simple mind couldn’t compute the delay. “What Kaoz do? Kaoz’ not prisoner of delay.”
Ramssee almost laughed. Kaoz’ a prisoner! Ramssee had taken him in and given the myz a life of opulence, his every physical want attended to, and still he saw himself as a caged beast? The ingrate!
Yet the viperz played his part to perfection, his voice a calm, mocking balm. “Actually, my friend, it could be more than a year.” He savored the sting of those words, the little dose of poison he was feeding Kaoz. He couldn’t resist. He then threw out a perfect little tease. “Perhaps, Kaoz, well, perhaps you might have somewhere else to go for awhile? Some other mission to attend to?”
I could feel the myz’s mind stutter. “What? Er…no.” The lie was so obvious, so clumsy. He turned his broad back on Ramssee, a physical manifestation of his guilt.
Ah, but Ramssee was a master of the mind. He forced himself to relax, though I could feel the anxious thrum of his thoughts, the paranoia that Kaoz might be plotting his demise. He approached the myz, and with a practiced ease, he engaged the magic I had bestowed upon him. The Power I had given him, a small taste of my own, pulsed in his eyes, weaving a subtle web around Kaoz’s already frayed senses.
“Don’t fear to tell me your troubles. Let Ramssee work with Kaoz as always. Together we can solve what troubles you. What is it, Kaoz? TELL ME.”
And with those simple words, the thread was pulled. The pathetic tapestry of Kaoz’s betrayal unraveled before Ramssee’s very eyes. The myz, in a torrent of babbling frustration, revealed his divine visitations. Not from me, no. Not about any plot against my little viperz. Instead, Ramssee learned again that Kaoz had continued to be tempted, and tempted often, by Inanna. She, the embodiment of Lust, had been using Kaoz in a pathetic little power play against me.
This wasn’t necessarily new information for Ramssee had extracted as much from Kaoz on their first meeting in the Northern Wastes years ago, but the viperz couldn’t resist pulling on the string again, and Kaoz spilled everything – again: Inanna’s rule in Ramos, her hatred for Shedu Mezai, the story of a myz caught between his lust for a goddess and his fear of my wrath. All of it, a feast of information for my devious viper. But one thing was not mentioned: the Grim.
Ramssee pressed the myz, his persuasion reaching a fever pitch. He had to know about The Grim. The air grew thick with his psychic prodding. The myz, a simpleton at heart, raged against the mental assault, and then, he broke.
“Ach! Ramssee right!” Kaoz raged, smashing a table into splinters, a perfect little outburst of raw emotion. “Inanna want Grim. Inanna help Kaoz kill Keldar!”
Ramssee smiled – he had what he could use to maneuver the myz.
“No matter.” Kaoz spat, no longer trying to hide his loathing. “Kaoz take Grim.” His eyes, filled with a primal, predatory hatred, stared daggers at the viper. “Ramssee plan good. Diked to Ramos. Inanna destroy Diked. Kaoz’ win.”
A truly magnificent plan. Kaoz, in his brutish simplicity, had come up with a brilliant way to solve Ramssee’s Diked problem, while also paving the way to his own ascension. How lovely.
“But,” Kaoz said cautiously, his mind suspicious. “Why Ramssee help Kaoz?”
The myz, for all his simplicity, had stumbled upon the very heart of the matter. Why would Ramssee help him? Because, my dear boy, there is always a price.
Ramssee’s final pitch was a masterpiece. He appealed to Kaoz’s vanity and his singular focus on the Grim. He reminded Kaoz that he, Ramssee, did not desire the blade. He only desired to rule over Orkney in peace. It was a half-truth, and a magnificent lie. He made Kaoz believe that he was a vital part of Ramssee’s plan, a partner, when in reality, he was merely a tool for disposal. He even presented a brilliant new wrinkle: travel by sea, not by land to make the travel faster and more covertly.
The plan was flawless. The pact was sealed. A beautiful little masterpiece of mortal ambition and my own celestial machinations. My two pawns had come to a perfect, mutually beneficial, and utterly self-serving agreement. Kaoz would take Diked to Ramos, a murder mission disguised as a grand adventure. Kaoz believed he was then going to get a queen and a god-killing dagger, whilst Ramssee would get rid of his two biggest obstacles at once, a brilliant little coup that he, in his smug arrogance, believed was his own idea. It was a win-win, a beautiful little tragedy waiting to happen.
The final piece of this glorious puzzle was, of course, the king himself.
Diked was in his alone in his bed chambers. The young ruler was oogling a belt from Akka adorned with a thousand two-carat diamonds and emeralds, a ridiculous trinket he believed was the height of luxury. Although approaching twenty, he was still a child, really – a child with an entire kingdom as his playground. He was the perfect mark.
The viperz and the myz came to him in the dead of night, a perfect contrast of cunning and brute force. Kaoz, the hulking gray giant, stood in the corner like a storm cloud given form, his great arms crossed over his chest, his eyes burning with a silent, predatory fury. Ramssee, on the other hand, was a vision of calm and composure, his silks shimmering under the candlelight, his expression a mask of practiced concern. He had to play this carefully, you see. He couldn’t let Diked suspect their real motives.
“Your Majesty,” Ramssee began, his voice a soft, hypnotic purr. “I’ve been thinking about what happened. My apologies for my… passion. The treasures of Akka, they stir something fierce within a man.” He moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on Diked’s shoulder. The king flinched, but Ramssee’s touch was imbued with my magic, a gentle, soothing warmth that made him relax against his will. “But Master Kaoz and I have been discussing it, and we believe we have come up with a solution to your problem.”
Diked, confused, looked from Ramssee to Kaoz, who simply grunted and glared. “My problem? I don’t have a problem,” the king stammered, pulling the diamond belt a little tighter. “I’m rich! Everyone says so!”
Ramssee smiled, a thin, patronizing crescent. “You believe you are rich. And you are, my king. For now.” He stepped back, a theatrical gesture of disappointment. “But what good is your wealth if it is only known in this small, forgotten corner of TerraVerde? What good are these magnificent jewels if they only ever see the inside of your bedchamber?”
The king’s face fell. He fidgeted with the jeweled belt, a dawning unease filling his foolish mind. “But… but I am King of Orkney! My father, Karl, he rarely left home. He said a king’s place was with his people. Why should I leave?” he sputtered, his voice cracking with a nervous tremor. “I have my castle, my advisors, my lands. I have no need to travel! The lands beyond our borders are filled with savages and beasts! And what of the throne? What of my people?”
Ramssee merely shook his head, a look of profound pity on his face. He knew every excuse the boy would conjure, and he had an answer for each one. “These are the words of a boy, not a king. A king must be a man of courage, of vision. The lands beyond are not filled with beasts, but with empires that will one day dwarf your own. And as for your throne and your people… are you a king, or merely a caretaker of your dead father’s legacy?”
The words hit their mark, slicing through Diked’s thin veneer of bravery. He looked at the floor, at his hands, at anything but the Advisor’s swirling eyes.
Ramssee seized the moment, making his voice a river of honeyed persuasion. He began to paint a picture so vibrant it was almost real. “Imagine it, Your Majesty. A grand tour of the great cities of the world! You would not arrive as a minor king from some backwater town, but as a wealthy, powerful monarch. You would charter a great vessel, a ship unlike any other, and it would be filled to the brim with your newfound riches. Every city you sailed into, from Primcitta to the far shores of Ramos, would gasp in awe at your splendor.”
Diked’s breath caught in his throat. He could see it. The great ships, the welcoming crowds, the banners with his own sigil.
“You would be greeted by the likes of King Meran of Mersia,” Ramssee continued, his voice now a mesmerizing melody. “A man whose coffers are legendary. But you, my king, you would be his equal, perhaps even his superior! Your wealth, harvested from the depths of Akka, will make the riches of even Karkamesh seem like a child’s hoard. You would form trade alliances that would bring unheard-of goods to Orkney, making this a central hub of the world. Think of the tapestries, the spices, the silks! Think of the legends that will be sung of you for centuries to come!”
The king’s chest swelled with a foolish pride. He imagined himself at the center of the world, his name not just known in the stars, but shouted from the rooftops of every great city.
Ramssee took another step, lowering his voice to a low, seductive whisper. “And what of the city of Ramos itself? Its great ruler, the goddess Inanna—Lust Herself—is a deity of pleasure and earthly delight. Her kingdom is a paradise of beauty and passion. She would welcome you, a young king on a grand quest, with open arms and… untold pleasures. You, my king, would be her honored guest. You, the most powerful man on the planet, would be the one to seal a pact that would give you access to a life of earthly delights that even the gods themselves would envy. What could you not possess? Who could resist you? A visit to Inanna would be the highlight of your trip – you would enjoy all the delights of the senses, a vacation of perpetual decadence!”
The allure of power and pleasure, that irresistible cocktail of youth, was the final bait. Diked’s eyes, once so wide with fear, were now glazed over with a dawning excitement. The fears of a perilous journey, faded in the face of such a magnificent promise. He was wavering, teetering on the edge of my trap. He wanted to go. He needed to be convinced just a little more.
But a whisper of doubt still lingered in his mind and he sought an excuse. “But… my people. I can’t abandon my people.”
The moment was perfect. Ramssee was ready for even this – so he stepped aside, a dramatic motion that exposed the brutish form of Kaoz. The myz, who had been listening with an animalistic impatience, took one single, deliberate step forward.
Thump.
The sound was like a hammer blow to the earth. The polished marble floor, which had been so perfectly pristine, cracked and splintered under the immense weight of his foot. The air went cold. Kaoz’s eyes, two burning coals in the shadows, locked onto the king.
“Diked go or Kaoz rip out Diked heart!” he bellowed, his voice a guttural roar that made the very tapestries on the walls tremble.
Diked screamed. It was a pathetic, high-pitched yelp of pure terror. The threat, so brutally real, brought him crashing back to his senses. His mind, now a mess of greed and fear, could only focus on one thing. The threat of having his heart ripped out by a myz was far more real and immediate than the allure of fame and fortune.
“I’ll go!” he shrieked, scrambling to get out of bed and away from the monstrous myz. “I’ll go! I’ll do whatever you say! Just… please don’t hurt me!”
Ramssee’s smile returned. “An excellent choice, my King. A wise and prudent choice. Now, you must make the preparations for your journey. And of course, you will need someone to rule in your place, someone you can trust implicitly to protect your interests and your kingdom while you are away.”
And so, the little lamb to the slaughter did exactly as he was told. He signed a new decree, a magnificent little document filled with flourishes and pomp, that officially appointed Ramssee as The Royal Steward. It granted him all rights and privileges of his Kingship, to be held in trust “until such time as he returned from his journey to Ramos.”
It’s a magnificent feeling, isn’t it? To see one’s meticulously crafted plans unfold exactly as you’ve foreseen. Ramssee, a creature so perfectly aligned with my own cunning nature, now believed he had ascended. He had removed the two most cumbersome pieces from his board and was free, or so he thought, to play his own game.
Let me take you inside his glorious little kingdom of deceit. It was a study in hubris.
With the king and the myz finally gone, a hush fell over the great castle of Fubar. The air, once heavy with the tension of a looming coup, now felt… relaxed. An entire royal court, a city, a kingdom—all breathing a collective sigh of relief. They were so relieved that their young, bumbling King Diked had not been murdered, a fate they all suspected was coming for him. The rumors of his grand voyage to Ramos were met with a sense of awe and a genuine, albeit pathetic, hope. The people, in their simpleminded faith, truly believed this journey would bring great things to them. How amusing.
Ramssee, however, was not concerned with the masses. He had his own throne room to ascend to, and it was not in the great hall where Diked once held court. No, his throne room was the king’s private bedchamber.
He moved into the room with the practiced ease of a man returning to his rightful home. The chamber, filled with the trappings of a monarch—rich, velvet tapestries depicting the glorious but wholly fabricated history of the Orkney royal line, a great bed carved from the dark, brooding wood of the northern forests, and the subtle scent of Diked’s boyish perfumes—was now his. He settled into it, languishing in the luxury like a serpent shedding its skin. He dismissed the servants with a lazy flick of his hand, their bowing and scraping a delightful new sound.
He was now a king in all but name, and he savored every moment of it.
But a man like Ramssee cannot savor such a triumph alone. His dark desires, once hidden by the need for secrecy and the proximity of his rivals, now demanded to be sated in the open.
Naturally, he called for a whore.
She was a girl, really, not much older than Diked. Her name was Livia, a simple village girl with wide, frightened eyes and the trembling body of one who knew she was out of her depth. She was a mere vessel for his fleeting, pathetic pleasure. He, who had just orchestrated a masterpiece of deceit and betrayal, was now seeking a moment of cheap, meaningless pleasure with a woman. I nearly gagged. But I suppose, in the end, they all must find their own little comforts.
Ramssee used the girl, her whimpering a soft backdrop to his internal monologue of triumph. When he was done, she fled the room, leaving behind only the scent of fear and a few scattered gold coins.
His passion sated and the woman gone, the viperz lay in the great bed, the luxurious sheets a tangled mess. The room was dark, save for a single torch that cast a flickering, golden light on his smug face. He propped himself up, his back against the pillows, and reached for a bowl of ripe, blood-red cherries that had been left on the nightstand. He popped one into his mouth, savoring the burst of sweet, tart juice on his tongue. He nibbled on them, one by one, their red juice staining his lips a beautiful, bloody color.
“Ramssee,” he whispered to himself, the sound a low, self-congratulatory hiss. “You are a sly dog.”
He spat a pit across the room, watching it clatter against the stone floor. “You’ve won! It’s done! All of them gone! The king, the brute… all of them.” He laughed, a soft, triumphant sound that echoed in the quiet chamber. He took another cherry, holding it up to the light, admiring its rich, dark hue. He saw the world in that cherry: a sweet, delicious orb that was now, finally, his to possess.
Yes, as you can see, Ramssee believed his own lies. He thought he had outwitted everyone, that he was the true master of this game. He believed that with Diked and Kaoz gone, and Inanna and Shedu Mezai distracted by the war of the gods that he would be free to rule. He was like a child who had stolen a kingdom, and now he could finally play king without his parents looking over his shoulder.
And he was so gloriously, so perfectly… wrong.
He had no idea that his supposed freedom was just a new, far more comfortable kind of prison. He, in his arrogance, had just made himself a beacon in the darkness. And it was high time I paid him a visit…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 