Location: Fubar in the Orkney Region
Timeline: Sixth Age, Summer, 51
My, my, how quickly things can change. One moment, Ramssee was the undisputed master of his tiny kingdom, a puppet king pulling the strings with a practiced hand. The next, his carefully constructed world was on the brink of collapse and oh, how he paddled to stay afloat.
With the king expected any day now, Ramssee knew he had to leave the palace. A sour taste filled his mouth at the thought, and it had nothing to do with the stale air of the royal palace. It was the taste of a bitter triumph, of a plan that was working, yes, but at a cost. He had vowed to continue to play the part of the dutiful steward, the loyal servant, and the people had swallowed the lie whole. But watching the thought of Diked’s smug, petulant face enjoying all the improvements Ramssee had made to the palace was almost too much.
This gilded cage, this magnificent palace, was a monument to his Ramssee’s ambition. He had spent the last year meticulously rebuilding it, pouring vast fortunes from the Akka mines into its restoration. He had installed new marble floors that shimmered like a frozen sea, tapestries woven with golden thread that depicted his own fabricated family crest, and grand chandeliers with a thousand crystal facets that made every room feel like a diamond. And now, the boy-king was going to get all of it. This was the true insult, the sting of a thousand small daggers.
He gathered his things in a swift, practiced motion. His sour mood was a thing to be controlled, to be hidden behind a mask of weary professionalism. He had no time to waste on such petty emotions. His mind raced with new calculations. The plan had shifted, yes, but the goal remained the same. Diked would not last. The people would grow tired of his arrogance, and the lords, already bought and paid for, would see him for the useless, entitled child he was. He just needed to bide his time. He may have my palace for now, Ramssee thought, a cold resolve hardening in his heart, but I will have his throne, and eventually, his life.
The silent servants from the Steward’s private villa were already on the way to help transport as much of Ramssee’s wealth as possible. He was expecting them to arrive at the palace any moment. As he made his way through the winding corridors to meet them, his mind raced. He had no time to waste. The game was accelerating, and he needed to be in a place where he could think, where he could scheme, without the constant presence of the boy-king – the villa would give him that.
It was then that he saw her, standing in the shadows of an archway, a quiet, predatory grace in her posture. It was Monnik – the one time whore who’d now been elevated by Ramssee himself into a position of power at court.
“Leaving so soon, my Lord Steward?” Monnik asked, her voice a low, musical purr.
Her eyes, those unsettling voids of black, met his, and for a fleeting moment, he saw not a woman, but a coiled serpent, ready to strike. He knew what she was. A level jumper. A creature that could leap between the strata of mortal society with a terrifying ease. She had her eyes on the king, on a chance to ascend to a position of power, and he knew that she was a variable he couldn’t afford to ignore.
He forced a charming smile. “The palace air has grown stale, my Lady. I find I cannot think in its oppressive confines.” He extended a hand, a gesture of unexpected intimacy. “Join me at my villa. We can discuss… strategy.” It was a test, a subtle probe into her true intentions. Would she come with him, or would she remain at court, closer to the source of power?
Monnik’s smile was as cold and sharp as a shard of ice. She took a step back, her gaze never leaving his. “You are too kind, my Lord, but I believe I can be of more use to you here.” Her voice was still a silken murmur, but the words were a dagger’s point. “Diked is… a simple man. He requires a great deal of guidance. And I, I believe, am uniquely suited to provide it.” She was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that she intended to sink her claws into the king himself.
The game, it seemed, had a new player. Ramssee’s blood ran cold. The thought of this woman, this unpredictable creature, having the king’s ear was a poison he couldn’t abide. He bowed, a gesture of grudging respect, and continued on his way, his mind spinning with new calculations. He had to be rid of her, and soon. She was a loose thread in his perfect tapestry, and he despised loose ends.
Thankfully his servants arrived and took his mind off Monnik. It was time for Ramssee to move as much of Akka’s wealth to his private estates as possible – for he had no intention of leaving it behind, a treasure trove he’d painstakingly amassed over the past year. Ramssee was a man who planned for every eventuality, and this had been one of them.
In the grand hall, away from the public eye, his silent servants moved with a quiet, efficient precision that was almost supernatural. They were a motley group, men and women whose lives he had bought, whose loyalty was to his gold alone. The scene, a controlled chaos, was a reflection of Ramssee’s own feverish state. He was everywhere at once, his voice a low, urgent hiss of commands. “Careful with that! That’s a Drrukka vase, worth more than your entire village!” he snarled at a trembling servant carrying a crate. “And you, you dolt! Don’t just stuff it in there! The Elvish armor must be wrapped in silk, not that common wool! Are you trying to scratch it?!”
He oversaw the packing of crates and chests, filling them not with the flashy tapestries and chandeliers that would serve as a public spectacle for the new king, but with the truly valuable, hidden wealth. Bags of gold coin clinked softly, their weight a soothing sound. Dwarvish artifacts, masterfully carved with ancient runes, were wrapped in fine silks. He watched over them as if they were his children, his eyes scanning for any sign of a tremor or a loose knot. The crates of rare gems were his greatest concern. He personally sealed them with his personal signet, a final touch that made the contents his own, no matter where they ended up.
Ramssee’s paranoia was a thing of beauty. He trusted no one. Not even his own servants. As he made his way through the winding corridors, he followed them, a ghostly procession of silent, efficient thieves, whisking away his fortune before the new king had even settled into his throne. He had a horse waiting for him at a secret exit, and he followed the procession all the way to his private villa, a fortress of opulence hidden in the city’s outskirts. Once there, he watched as his wealth was unloaded and stored in his own personal vaults, the steel doors of his treasury closing with a satisfying thud. Only then did he feel a sense of calm, the bitter taste in his mouth finally fading away.
He was not a king, not yet. But he was a master of his own destiny, and with this wealth, he was one step closer to becoming just that.
Meanwhile, in public The Royal Steward continued to win high praise among the citizens of Orkney—both rich and poor alike—for his unselfish nature. Besides ‘sharing the wealth,’ Ramssee was lauded for his efficient management of the kingdom during King Diked’s absence, and he won even more praise from the people when he immediately and publicly abdicated power back to Diked upon the latter’s return. In fact, during the celebration marking the Diked’s resumption of the throne, it was surmised by many that Ramssee received just as many cheers as Diked—a fact that was not lost on the viperz…or the King.
While you might think Ramssee would have been frustrated with Diked’s return and his re-assumption of the throne, the reality is that it was all a part of Ramssee’s “updated” grand designs. Oh, it’s true, when the young ruler had returned to Fubar (with Kaoz in secret tow), the viperz was initially unsure what his plan should be—abdication or assassination? He toyed with the idea of a swift, quiet end for Diked, a simple, surgical removal of the problem. But then, he considered the optics. The people loved him, the lords were in his pocket. A murdered king, even a universally disliked one, would create a power vacuum, a messy, unpredictable affair that could invite the very chaos he sought to control. And so, he decided to not go all in on his political chips. He would let Diked take the throne back, but make sure he failed.
And so Ramssee put on a public display to welcome the king—a display that would have made even me, the master of all theatricality, proud. He had the royal formally greeted by the newly-improved Fubar military at the newly built massive guard gates on the Southern Wall, a silent testament to Ramssee’s own diligence and foresight. Diked, dressed in garish, ill-fitting silks, was paraded through a city filled with cheering citizens. But the cheers, as I mentioned, were not for him. They were for the Royal Steward, the man who had brought them prosperity in a time of great uncertainty. Diked’s face, a mask of petulant entitlement, betrayed a growing irritation, a flicker of cold rage that Ramssee caught and stored away for future use.
[In truth, many of the Orkney lords were sorry to hear of Ramssee’s plan step down from power — more than a few of them had come to him in secret during the first month of Diked’s return and pledged themselves to Ramssee’s cause should he chose to make a move to regain the Royal Throne – for the High Society of Orkney had never had it better than they had under the viperz’s reign and they feared that the inexperience Diked would jeopardize their pipeline of good fortunes. Ramssee thanked them for their support but counseled “Patience” – promising he would steer Diked in the ‘right’ direction and assuring them that the boy’s reign would be short and sweet. Satisfied with the plan, Ramssee’s conspirators remained ready for action eager for the Steward call upon them].
Meanwhile, with Kaoz already secreted away at Ramssee’s villa, The Steward returned to the city to visit the Diked – the two of them met in the King’s private study. The room, a place of quiet luxury, felt small and suffocating with their clashing egos. Diked, lounging in a plush chair, gestured lazily toward a stack of papers. “So, Steward, tell me of the kingdom. I assume the coffers are overflowing. It would be… embarrassing… to have a king with a mere pittance of wealth.”
Ramssee, feigning a deep bow, kept his voice smooth and deferential. “The coffers are full, my lord. Fuller than ever, in fact. The mines of Akka are a bottomless well of fortune, howe–.”
“Excellent!” Diked interrupted, his eyes lit with a fevered hunger. “Then I can finally resume my travels. I shall visit every great city, from the golden spires of Babel to the icy reaches of the northern wastes. The other kings will bow before my immense wealth!”
Ramssee’s smile, a practiced thing of polished porcelain, tightened almost imperceptibly as he laid his first trap. “My lord, there is… a small complication. You see, during your absence, I redirected the efforts of the miners. They are not focused on collecting the gold and gems for which you have a passion. They have been focused on opening the Deepest Depths, per our agreement with… with the party who shall remain unnamed.”
Diked’s face, which had been wreathed in a blissful dream of future praise from his fellow elites, crumpled into a scowl. He shot up from his chair, his voice a high-pitched whine. “What? You fool! What did you do? The gold is my glory! My travels! I cannot go out into the world and be… poor!” He spat the word as if it were a physical insult. “How can I show off my greatness if I am without the wealth that proves it? I am a king, not a common merchant! This is a disgrace! I’m stuck here!”
Ramssee held up a placating hand. “My Lord, the Deepest Depths will surely yield unimaginable riches. You will not be poor for long.”
Diked, however, would hear none of it. “I want my gold now! I want to be able to leave! You have ruined everything!”
Ramssee, a master of the double game, now had all the ammunition he needed. He had revealed Diked’s true nature to the king himself. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he could use this against him. He now had the king right where he wanted him: whining, useless, and universally disliked. And he planned for all of Fubar to realize this – soon.
Meanwhile, even thought Kaoz had immediately moved back in to the Steward’s Villa upon his return to Fubar, Ramssee hadn’t yet been able talk with myz and he was still eager to learn why Kaoz hadn’t murdered Diked in Ramos. The next day, he got his answers.
“Kaoz different plans.” The myz replied smugly as his girth threatened to collapse one of the more expensive chairs in the conservatory of the Steward’s original residence. “Kaoz must get Grim and return to Ramos. Inanna send Diked back.”
“But having me as Orkney’s ruler can help you obtain the Grim sooner ” The viperz explained, his voice still a calm whisper of reason. “Surely you can see that I have more incentive to help you than that snot-nosed little despot Diked?”
“Then why Ramssee not have dagger yet?” Ramssee reddened at the remark and before he could reply, the myz added, “Kaoz at Akka yesterday. Kaoz discover.”
Ramssee smiled ruefully. “Ah, you’ve seen that the work to open the passageway to the Deepest Depths looks little different than it did when you left?” To himself, the viperz realized he needed to modify his plans as he thought: If Kaoz won’t help me eliminate Diked, maybe I can convince him to take Diked back to Ramos with him?
“Kaoz not happy with Ramssee.”
“Sorry to hear that, my friend, but you know as well as I what limitations we are saddled with here—we’re working with crude human miners and expecting them to unseal the work of the expert Drrukka stonecutters! For all I know, the task may be impossible. Think about it, if the cursed Drrukka wanted to protect a cave that housed their most prized possessions do you think a bunch of dim-witted men can get it open in a few years? Pah!”
The myz narrowed his eyes at that, “Is Grim lost forever?”
”Don’t put words into my mouth. What I’m saying is that our great Shaitan seems to have sent us on an impossible mission—one that will lead to our deaths at his hands…unless we make other plans first.”
“Fool. If Ramssee fail Death, Death take Ramssee. But Kaoz have Inanna. Inanna and Kaoz will rule world.”
“Well that’s great, just great.” Ramssee patronized. “But if that true, then why did you come back? And why bring Diked? What is his use to you? Or Inanna?”
“Inanna have reasons. Kaoz must get Grim.”
“Of course, how could I forget. Yet I have a question for you—what will your beloved Inanna do if you come back without her prize? Does the witch queen want you or does she really want the dagger?”
Ramssee’s barbs sent the myz into a rampage—the beast roared a guttural shriek of fury. He bashed an expensive table in half with a single swing of his ham-fist, sending splinters of rich cherry wood flying. He knocked over some chairs, their cushioned seats and golden legs a pathetic mess on the floor, and then ran towards the viperz screaming for blood. Yet, Ramssee had expected as much and as such he’d already shapeshifted into his other form—a deadly asp. The oversized gray giant tried in vain to catch the adder, his huge hands swatting at the air, but to no avail.
After nearly all of the furnishings of the room were destroyed, and Kaoz was winded, then it was that Ramssee hissed, “Ssss, Arrrre you ready to lissssten to me?”
The myz made no reply as he stood there about ten feet away, hands on knees, still trying catching his breath. He was a creature of simple mind and massive muscle; he was not built for a battle of wits.
The viperz once more shifted back into a man.
“Sorry to disillusion you, but I need an ally who knows the real score,” Ramssee explained. “Look, I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here. But I also don’t want Diked here either. So, if you won’t kill him for me, then I’d like you to take him with you when you go back to Ramos with The Grim. However, when you leave this time, I don’t want either of you to ever return. NO SURPRISES. But, if for instance we are unable to secure The Grim and you do go off to Ramos, I don’t want you to get there and then be sent home by Inanna because you don’t have the dagger. I want you to know before you go there that she really wants YOU, with or without The Grim.” Although why that would be, I don’t know—he added silently to himself.
Still Kaoz said nothing, but Ramssee could tell his words were sinking in. The myz was conflicted. His simple loyalty to a new master was being challenged by a truth he couldn’t deny.
“I will give you the solution.” The viperz tried to seem like he was helping. “The next time you talk with the goddess in your dreams, explain the situation and see what she says—at least you will know what you’re really dealing with and who knows, maybe she can offer us a solution?”
The myz finally spoke. “Snake is stupid. If Kaoz leave, Ramssee still need Grim for Death, else Death destroy Snakeman.”
Well, at least he is paying attention. The viperz surmised, before replying, “Kaoz, you need not worry about me. Have you not noticed the great defenses I have shown you? And that’s just the start. By the time that The Shaitan ever gets around to coming for me, I will have made myself a powerful Emperor. I’ll have an army capable of resisting anything he could throw at me. All I need is for you to just leave with Diked and the people will practically force me into the Royal Throne!” Catching his breath after the excitement of his last words, he added, “SO, what do you say, Kaoz, do we have a deal?”
Before the myz could reply, there came an urgent rap at the door.
“My lord, my lord,” a muffled voice came through the portal. “I have news of great importance!”
Kaoz moved to hide—a fairly easy task given all the rubble in the room, whilst Ramssee walked to the door. “This better be important or I’ll have your head for interrupting me while I’m discussing a matter of state.”
The viperz opened the door a crack and peeked his head out to see a courier down on one knee before him.
“My lord, grand news indeed!” The messenger bowed, his voice quivering with excitement. “The foreman of Akka has sent me with the following message for you. I am to tell you ‘The Deepest Depths have been pierced and you are invited to witness it for yourself.”
The Steward was stunned. His carefully laid plans, his cunning manipulations, they were all rendered moot by a single message. The impossible had happened. The prize he had so long coveted was now within reach. “Thank you, boy, thank you!” and he tossed a handful of gold at the messenger—enough money to cover the man’s wages for an entire year. “Leave me as I make my preparations. No, strike that, go tell Cael I will be there tomorrow. And, tell him to keep his men working through the night!”
When Ramssee closed the door and looked back into the conservatory, he found Kaoz standing right behind him—the myz was salivating, black blood dripping down his cheeks in hunger. With eyes ablaze he grabbed the viperz by the throat and slammed him back against the wall.
“Don’t trick Kaoz!” The beast roared, his voice a low, gravelly growl of pure menace. “Kaoz get Grim. Kaoz go to Ramos. If take Diked, depends on Kaoz. ” And he threw the snake man to the floor and stormed off.
For his part, Ramssee didn’t say a word. Instead he shifted back into a snake and after a brief hiss, slithered out the door to safety. He knew that for all his grand schemes and cunning lies, he had just been reduced to a single, urgent task. The game had changed. The prize was on the board. And he had to get there first.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 