Part XVI: The Golden One
Chapter 3: The Pleasure Palace
Timeline: AO 302-303
After a grueling journey through mountains, deserts, rivers and more, at last Garrick, Rorik, and what remained of the goblin troop had finally arrived at their destination – Karkemesh – the twin palaces of the goddess Sindra.
“You’ve come a long way,” a voice called out as they neared the port on the river that served as the entrance to the city. It was a woman, tall and statuesque in a short white robe, her skin shimmering with an unnatural glow. Flanked by two muscular men in similar attire, the mysterious woman added. “Many come seeking The Goddess, but few are worthy.”
As the boats reached the dock, Garrick eagerly stepped onto the dock to greet the welcome party. Overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of meeting Sindra, for a moment, the Derkka king forgot about his anxiety and proudly proclaimed, “I am Garrick the Golden Hand, The Grand Marduk of Babel and the king of all Gor and Kra. I am the most beautiful of all Babelonians. I am worthy.”
The woman smiled, her lips curling into a Cheshire grin that sent a chill down his spine. “We shall see,” she said, turning to lead him into the palace. “The Goddess has been expecting you.”
As Garrick and his men were led into Karkemesh, the first thing that struck them was the sheer splendor of the cities. Even the sun-drenched streets of Babel paled in comparison to the spectacle before them. The twin palaces of the Serpent’s Embrace loomed overhead, their gleaming white marble walls reflecting the sun, casting a golden glow over everything. The palaces were almost otherworldly, their grand domes crowned with gold and their towers rising high into the sky like beacons of indulgence. The sounds of laughter, music, and the cries of pleasure drifted on the warm breeze, making the city feel alive with temptation.
Garrick, Rorik, and their goblin retinue were led through the streets by a silent procession of Sindra’s servants. As they passed, silk-clad courtesans twirled and danced in the streets, their bodies dripping with jewels and gold, their every movement oozing sensuality. Garrick caught more than one of them eyeing him with a teasing smile, and he couldn’t help but stare back, his pulse quickening.
Rorik, walking beside Garrick, nudged him with an elbow. “Look at this place, my king!” he whispered, eyes wide. “Never seen anything like it. Those women… gods be good! You think they’re as welcoming as they look?”
Garrick smirked, though inwardly he was just as amazed as Rorik. “I imagine so,” he muttered, eyes scanning the courtesans as they passed. “But keep your wits about you. We didn’t come here to get distracted… too distracted, at least.”
One of the goblins, a stocky creature named Grob, shuffled closer to Garrick, his beady eyes flicking between the golden domes and the dancing women. “Can you believe it, Marduk? It’s like a dream! They don’t even have the stench of the underground on ’em!” Grob’s excitement was palpable, his crooked teeth showing in a wide grin. “Think they’ll let us stay here forever?”
Rorik snorted. “Aye, if you don’t end up in some pleasure den with your throat slit first. Just keep your hands to yourself until we know what we’re dealing with, Grob.”
As they strolled, Garrick became as caught up in the marvel of the city as anyone else. Yet it wasn’t the beauty of his surroundings that caught his eye most, but instead the people – for the citizens of Ramos, untouched by the curse of Baal, were stunning in a way that bordered on divine. From the slaves to the merchants, everyone seemed to embody a level of beauty he had only heard of in tales. And the sight of all this beauty caused Garrick incredible distress, By Baal – I’m a goblin compared to these creatures!
As they approached the palace itself, a new retinue of Sindra’s servants greeted them with a respectful bow, though Garrick noticed something more in their eyes. Fear, perhaps, of Sindra’s wrath if they failed in their duties?
Once inside, the opulence of the palace was overwhelming—the mosaic walls depicted serpents coiling around prey, each piece of stonework laced with malevolence and desire. Every corner of the palace oozed decadence, with hidden alcoves and veiled chambers whispering of secret pleasures and forbidden acts.
Rorik, unable to help himself, leaned in closer to Garrick. “What do you reckon goes on in those rooms, eh?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Bet they’ve got pleasures here we can’t even imagine.”
Garrick chuckled, his own mind racing with possibilities. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he said, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. “But remember, keep your wits about you, or this city might swallow us whole.”
Still, despite his warning, even Garrick couldn’t help but be drawn in by the palace’s intoxicating allure. He could feel the pulse of the city in every breath, and as the servants led them deeper into the labyrinthine halls of the Serpent’s Embrace, he couldn’t help but wonder what awaited them on the other side.
The night before his fateful meeting with Sindra, the luxurious chamber that the queen had provided to Garrick was transformed into a flurry of frantic activity. While Rorik and the other goblins were in the own rooms doing who knows what, Garrick’s chamber was air was thick with the scent of oils, perfumes, and powders, as slaves—men and women alike—worked feverishly to prepare their guest for the most important encounter of his life. Garrick, the mighty king of the Derkka, sat in the middle of the madness, stripped to his waist, his muscles rippling with every anxious breath. Yet despite his warrior’s physique, his demeanor was anything but imposing. Instead, he fussed, muttering under his breath like a man possessed by vanity and desperation.
“More powder!” Garrick snapped, holding out his hand impatiently, while staring into a polished silver mirror. “No, no, no! That’s too much! I look like I’ve been dipped in flour. Take it off! Take it off!”
One of the slaves, a trembling young woman, hurried to dab at his face with a damp cloth, while another massaged scented oils into his arms and chest. His skin gleamed in the flickering torchlight, but Garrick was far from satisfied.
“Look at these pores! They’re enormous!” Garrick’s voice was high-pitched and panicked as he leaned in closer to the mirror, pulling aside his skin mask. “I look like a blasted honeycomb!” He grabbed the mirror and angled it up to inspect his forehead. “And what’s this? Is that a wrinkle? A wrinkle?! By the gods, I’m falling apart!”
He tossed the mirror aside, pacing in circles, his muscular frame flexing with frustration. Despite the finest treatments the slaves could offer—his skin was now smoother than marble, his hair sleek and shining like spun gold, and his lips a perfect rose-petal pink—none of it pleased him. The more he fretted, the more his desperation mounted.
“Do you have any idea who I’m meeting tomorrow?” he barked at the slaves, his voice nearly hysterical. “The most beautiful woman in the world! And look at me!” He gestured wildly at his reflection, which, in truth, was nothing short of godlike. But Garrick couldn’t see it. All he saw was imperfection—a blotch here, a hint of shadow under his eyes, a hair out of place.
“Ugh, I’m hideous!” he wailed, throwing himself dramatically onto a chaise, his brawny arms splayed over the sides as if he had just fought a losing battle. The slaves exchanged nervous glances, unsure how to respond to the king’s tantrum.
One of the attendants tentatively approached with a bowl of crushed pearls mixed with honey, a rare and luxurious face mask meant to tighten and rejuvenate the skin. Garrick sat up, eyeing the concoction with a glimmer of hope.
“Pearls… yes… that’ll do it!” he said, seizing the bowl. “Rub it in! Everywhere! But gently! I can’t afford to lose any more moisture!”
The slaves dutifully applied the mixture, but even as it hardened into a pristine, flawless finish, Garrick stared into the mirror and shook his head in defeat.
“It’s useless,” he muttered. “I look like a cracked vase. A giant, sweaty, cracked vase!” He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled by despair. “I’m going to be the ugliest man in all of Karkemesh tomorrow. Sindra will take one look at me and turn me to stone. I just know it!”
The slaves, helpless in the face of his vanity, stood awkwardly by as Garrick groaned and cursed under his breath. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of agonizing over his reflection, he snapped.
“Enough!” Garrick shouted, rising to his feet. “Enough of this nonsense!” He stormed toward the mirror, staring at the reflection with wild eyes. “I give up. This is it. This is as good as it gets. Curse the gods! Curse every one of them! Why did they create me if I can’t even look half as beautiful I need to?!”
His shoulders sagged in defeat as he slumped back into the chaise, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’d sell my soul to her, you know… I’d give her anything… if she could just make me beautiful. Truly beautiful. Not this… this… beast I see in the mirror.”
With a final, defeated sigh, Garrick waved the slaves away. “Go. Leave me,” he muttered. “I’ll just have to meet her like this… wretched and flawed. There’s no saving me now.”
As they quietly filed out of the room, leaving the king to brood in his private torment, the flickering torchlight cast long shadows over Garrick’s finely polished form. Despite his outward perfection, in his mind, he was doomed to failure—and nothing could convince him otherwise.
The moment had finally come. Garrick stood in the grand entrance of the Serpent’s Embrace, every inch of his towering form suddenly feeling small. The beauty treatments he’d frantically undergone earlier seemed like a distant memory, yet even now he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him. He’d never seen his reflection without grimacing, and tonight he feared it was worse than ever. He tugged at his tunic nervously, smoothing the fabric as if that would somehow erase the weeks of wear, grime, and the physical toll of their journey. What would Sindra, the most beautiful woman in the world, think of him?
“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, “I look like a half-baked mess.” His hands combed through his hair anxiously, patting it down despite the fact that the slaves had spent hours ensuring it was perfectly groomed.
Just as he began contemplating a desperate escape from this embarrassment, a soft, silken voice echoed through the chamber.
“Welcome, Garrick of the Golden Hand.”
He froze, and the air seemed to still around him. Her voice was like music, and the soft rasp of her words ignited a fire in his chest. Slowly, he raised his gaze, and there she was.
Sindra stood at the top of a curved staircase, her emerald eyes shimmering like polished jewels, catching the faintest glint of light and pulling him in. Her raven hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face that was impossibly perfect, each delicate feature sculpted by the gods themselves. She moved like a serpent, graceful, fluid, and impossibly alluring, her every motion designed to captivate and control.
For a moment, Garrick forgot to breathe. His heart pounded as if it might leap out of his chest, and all the anxiety about his appearance evaporated in an instant. Sindra was beyond comparison—beyond beauty, beyond anything he had ever known.
He had expected to be nervous, but this… this was something else. He felt like a boy again, awkward and unsure, as she descended the stairs, her gaze never leaving his. When she smiled—a slow, knowing smile—he felt his legs go weak. The power she radiated was undeniable, and Garrick, despite his strength and reputation, felt utterly at her mercy.
“You seek knowledge,” Sindra purred, her voice like honey, “but Karkemesh offers so much more.”
Garrick swallowed hard. He tried to form words, something clever, something to prove that he wasn’t completely at a loss, but all he could manage was a nod. His lips parted, but his throat was dry. The king, the warrior, the master of battles, stood helpless before her.
She extended a hand, beckoning him forward, and he obeyed without thinking, drawn by an invisible force. She led him deeper into the palace, where the walls were adorned with intricate carvings of serpents, their eyes set with precious gems that gleamed like they were watching, hungry for secrets. The palace itself felt alive—its opulence overwhelming, its luxury almost suffocating.
As they entered the heart of the Serpent’s Embrace, Garrick’s breath caught. The pleasure dome was a vast, circular chamber, its walls shimmering with gold, the scent of incense and exotic spices thick in the air. The sound of distant, haunting music seemed to float from the walls themselves, intoxicating in its beauty.
In the center of the room was a pool, the water shimmering like liquid moonlight under the soft glow of a hundred flickering oil lamps. Sindra moved with effortless grace, her robes sliding from her body like water as she disrobed. Garrick’s heart thudded in his chest, and he could do nothing but watch, his mouth dry and mind spinning. She stepped into the pool, her bare skin glistening under the light, her movements slow, deliberate, like a predator coaxing its prey.
“Join me,” she whispered, her voice carrying across the room as if spoken directly into his ear.
Without hesitation, Garrick found himself stripping off his own clothing, his earlier anxieties forgotten. He slipped into the pool, the warm water enveloping him, soothing his tired muscles and clouding his mind. As he submerged, the scent of the perfumed water seemed to seep into his very soul, washing away the tension, the nerves, the doubts. The pool, fed by hidden streams of warm water infused with exotic oils, seemed to dull his senses and sharpen them at once. He barely noticed the faint laughter and music that drifted through the air, the sounds blending into the background as his focus narrowed entirely onto Sindra.
Sindra’s form moved with an effortless grace through the water, her body more a shadow of suggestion than solid form. Each ripple of her movements seemed to entice, her long hair fanning out behind her like dark silk, shimmering with the lamplight. She swam closer, her emerald eyes glinting with the predatory glimmer of a serpent about to strike.
When she spoke, her voice was a low, throaty purr, dripping with seduction. “Do you know, Garrick,” she whispered, circling him in the water like a panther stalking its prey, “what it truly means to be free? To live without the chains of the world, without the burdens of time, of age, of pain?”
Her fingertips brushed his chest, and the contact sent a surge of heat through his body. He couldn’t respond—his voice caught in his throat. She was overwhelming. His mind struggled to cling to some semblance of control, but in her presence, it was impossible. He was lost, adrift in the intoxicating power of her touch, her voice, her very presence.
“Here, within the Serpent’s Embrace,” she continued, her fingers trailing along his jawline, her lips mere inches from his ear, “you can have everything you’ve ever desired. Beauty, strength, pleasure… power beyond imagining. All the things you’ve craved, Garrick, but never dared to voice aloud. You need only ask.”
He swallowed, his breath ragged. The scent of her skin—something sweet and dangerous—seeped into his senses, making it hard to think of anything but her. Every word she spoke wrapped around him like velvet, binding him tighter into her spell.
Sindra slid her body closer, her lips grazing his neck in a soft, feather-light kiss. “You are a king,” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur against his skin. “But here, you can be so much more than that. All the desires you’ve hidden away, the cravings you dare not reveal—here, they are not sins. Here, they are worship.”
Garrick closed his eyes, his body trembling under the weight of her seduction. Her hand slipped beneath the water, trailing down his torso, her touch sending shockwaves of desire through him. His thoughts had dissolved into a muddled fog of need, every nerve ending alive with the promise of her pleasure.
“I… I don’t know if…” He barely recognized his own voice, thick and hoarse with longing.
Sindra’s smile widened, her lips hovering dangerously close to his. “You do know, Garrick,” she purred, her breath hot against his ear. “You crave it. You crave everything I offer. You just need to surrender. Let go of your fear, your doubt. Let me guide you to the deepest pleasures you have ever known.”
She kissed him, a slow, searing kiss that ignited a fire in his core. Her lips tasted of honey and forbidden fruit, sweet and tantalizing. His hands, instinctively, reached for her, desperate for more. He wanted to devour her, to lose himself in her completely. There was no more fear, no hesitation—only the overwhelming desire to belong to her, to feel every inch of her pressed against him.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice wrapping around his thoughts like a silken noose. “Here, in Karkemesh. I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I will make you beautiful beyond your wildest dreams. You will never know fear or anxiety ever again. Only pleasure, eternal and divine.”
The words slithered into his ears, tantalizing and terrible all at once. He was drowning in her presence, his mind slipping further into her control with each passing second. He couldn’t see his reflection in the water anymore—only her. Only her impossible beauty, her seductive power. She was the goddess of lust, and she had ensnared him completely.
“I… I would give anything for that,” he breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. His voice trembled with the weight of his surrender. “My soul… my life. Anything you want. Just… make me yours.”
Sindra smiled again, her teeth sharp and glistening in the dim light, her eyes glowing with a victorious hunger. “In time, Garrick. In time, you will give me all that I desire.” Her hands slid up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing his lips. “But for now… just surrender. Let me take you into the depths of ecstasy.”
She kissed him again, and this time, Garrick knew he was lost. There was no going back, no escape. He would have sold his soul to her a hundred times over if it meant feeling this, being this. His body, his mind, his very essence belonged to Sindra now, and he welcomed the darkness with open arms.
And so, he stayed. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as Garrick lost himself in the endless nights of revelry. The palace became his world, the outside a distant memory. Sindra was his everything and soon her every whim was his command. She fed him fruits laced with intoxicating nectars, filled his nights with fevered dreams, and wrapped him in a cocoon of sensuality from which there was no escape.
The pleasures of Karkemesh were manifold and the goblins from Derkka tried to enjoy them all, but it was in the Serpent’s Embrace that Garrick remained. The pleasure dome of the goddess’ palace was as if in perpetual twilight, where time seemed to stand still, and the outside world became a distant memory. Here, beneath a ceiling painted with scenes of celestial beauty, the air was thick with the scent of incense and the sound of soft, hypnotic music played by unseen hands.
The women of the Serpent’s Embrace were as beautiful as they were skilled, each one a master of a different art of pleasure. Sindra presided over them, her presence commanding and yet tender. In the beginning Garrick resisted anyone but the goddess, but when Sindra commanded him to partake of others as a condition to enjoying her delights again, Garrick relented. The goddess would then watch with an amusing smile as Garrick soon himself in the arms of her attendants, their laughter and love a symphony that drowned out the last of his resistance.
Eventually the Derkka king forgot why he had ever come to Karkemesh – for he forgot the world outside the palace, forgot even his own name, until all that remained was the pleasure, the ecstasy, the endless, consuming fire that burned through his veins.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 