Part XVI: The Golden One
Chapter 4: For the Price of Your Soul
Timeline: AO304 – 309
A year passed in this manner. Maybe two. Who can say.
One night – much like any other – Garrick’s heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled out of the pleasure dome, his body still thrumming from the hours of excess. His clothes clung to his sweat-slicked skin, a haze of exotic perfumes and lust clouding his mind. His time in Karkemesh had passed in a blur, each day melting into the next, a dizzying spiral of indulgence and opulence. The wildness of the evening clung to him still, but all he wanted now was to return to his chambers and collapse, allowing sleep to claim him.
As he wound through the marble corridors of the Serpent’s Embrace, passing its glittering mosaics and fragrant alcoves, Garrick found his thoughts drifting to his closest friend, Rorik Mudfoot. The rough-edged goblin who grew up as a peasant in the fields of Gor had become a surprising companion to the Derkka king – their friendship had been forged through hardships back home and then further tempered in the hedonistic playground of Karkemesh. Despite the grandeur surrounding them, Rorik had always managed to bring Garrick back to some sense of reality—a crude joke here, a hearty laugh there.
When Garrick saw the door to Rorik’s chambers slightly ajar, he chuckled to himself. “Old Rorik, probably passed out after another night of love,” he approached the door intending to sneak in for a shared laugh over their mutual debauchery.
But as he neared the portal, he stopped dead in his tracks. Laughter – soft and intimate – drifted from within the room, mingling with low murmurs and the unmistakable sounds of passion. Garrick’s face flushed with embarrassment. Clearly, Rorik had company. He began to turn away, willing himself to leave his friend to his privacy.
Yet something stopped him.
A strange, nagging pull tightened in his gut, urging him to stay. Garrick hesitated, his hand hovering in midair, inches from the doorframe. His curiosity gnawed at him. It wasn’t just any sound—it was familiar. A voice, soft and alluring, too familiar to ignore.
Sindra! Garrick’s blood froze in his veins. Why is she is Rorik’s room? The warmth from the pleasure dome evaporated, leaving Garrick cold and trembling. His heart raced with a tumult of emotions: jealousy, rage, betrayal. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.
Unable to resist, Garrick moved closer, his feet silently carrying him to the edge of the door. It can’t be her. I must be mistaken. I must know for sure! He peered inside.
The sight hit him like a fist to the gut.
There she was—Sindra, her ethereal beauty glowing in the dim lamplight, her movements slow and languid as she entwined herself with Rorik. Her raven hair cascaded down her back like liquid, her body a living flame of sensuality. And there, beneath her, Rorik writhed in ecstasy, his hideous goblin face a mask of bliss, completely enraptured by the goddess.
Garrick’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t look away, despite the storm of emotions surging through him. The anger, the jealousy, the heartbreak—everything he had felt for her, everything he had surrendered, twisted inside him like a knife. He knew she was not his alone but he had convinced himself of that lie nonetheless. I was a fool! But Rorik – I’ll kill him for this! And yet even then, Garrick was still frozen, as if bound by some dark magic.
But as he watched, something shifted.
Sindra’s movements slowed, her body still entwined with Rorik’s, but her eyes—those brilliant emerald eyes—glinted with something far darker than lust. Her hand slid up Rorik’s chest, her fingers curling under his chin, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she leaned in, her lips brushing his neck.
Garrick’s pulse quickened. Something isn’t right. The king wanted to move to break up this debauchery but he was locked in place – only able to observe not act.
Sindra’s lips parted, and that’s when Garrick saw it—a faint, shimmering glow, like the flicker of a dying star. That’s not a kiss. It’s something…evil!
The goddess’ lips latched onto Rorik’s skin, and suddenly his body stiffened. The glow grew stronger, a pale, sickly light that began to emanate from Rorik’s very being. Garrick watched as his friend’s eyes flew open in shock, his mouth parting in a silent scream, but he couldn’t move. His goblins hands, once grasping at Sindra in passion, now twitched helplessly at his sides.
Garrick’s heart pounded in terror as he realized what was happening. Sindra is stealing Rorik’s soul!
The Golden One watched as the light from the goblin grew brighter, more intense, as it poured from Rorik’s body into Sindra’s mouth, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. His friend’s face twisted in agony, his skin paling as his life force was drained from him, pulled out in excruciating waves. His entire frame shriveled, his limbs contorting as if wracked by some unseen pain.
Garrick wanted to scream, to rush in and stop it—but alas – he still couldn’t move. His legs felt like lead, his throat dry and paralyzed with fear. All he could do was continue to watch as the woman he worshiped devoured the soul of his friend, the divine one’s power growing with every stolen breath.
When the last of Rorik’s essence flickered out of him, his body collapsed, limp and lifeless, a hollow shell of the goblin Garrick had once known. Sindra remained atop him, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her skin glowing with the stolen energy.
Then, as if sensing Garrick’s presence, she turned.
Her eyes locked onto Garrick’s through the sliver of the open door, and a wicked smile curled her lips.
“Did you enjoy what you saw, my love?” she purred, her voice dripping with malicious satisfaction. “You could have had the same… pleasure.”
Garrick’s stomach churned with revulsion and horror. At last he was able to move and he stumbled backward, his heart hammering in his chest, bile rising in his throat. Without a word, he fled, his footsteps echoing through the empty halls as he ran, desperate to escape the nightmare he had just witnessed.
Behind him, Sindra’s soft laughter followed, a haunting melody that he would never forget.
For days after Rorik’s death, Garrick was a man torn between disbelief and dread. His mind refused to accept what his eyes had seen, yet the memory of that horrifying night refused to fade. He had tried to convince himself it was a dream—a vile fantasy conjured from exhaustion and too much indulgence. Surely I was just imagining it all. My Sindra couldn’t have murdered Rorik. She wouldn’t even be with him. She loves me! But no matter how hard the Babelonian king tried to rationalize it, the memory gnawed at him.
One day, the need for answers became too great, and Garrick walked to Rorik’s room. I’ll bet ol’ Mudfoot is with a few ladies enjoying himself. Garrick forced himself to laugh at his foolishness. We’ll enjoy a drink together and he’ll hoot his goblin butt off at how Karkemesh has played tricks on my mind. But when The Golden One reached his friend’s door, he found the room cleaned and swept.
There were no belongings, no traces of Rorik’s presence. The bed was freshly made, the air devoid of the familiar musk of the goblin’s pipe smoke. It was as if Rorik had never existed.
Panic set in. Garrick grabbed the nearest servant, and gruffly demanded, “Where is Rorik Mudfoot? He stayed here. What happened to him?”
The servant’s eyes glazed over as he shook his head. “There has never been a guest by that name, master.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Garrick snapped, his voice rising. “He was here, in this room. The goblin, Rorik!”
The servant flinched but remained as calm as ever. “No goblin has ever stayed in this room, master. This room has been prepared for a new guest, a diplomat from Mersia. I know of no person of which you speak.”
Garrick’s stomach lurched, a cold sweat forming on his brow. He pushed past the servant and stormed through the palace, questioning anyone who would listen. Each time, the answers were the same. No one remembered Rorik. No one recalled his presence in the palace. His name was met with blank stares, and his very existence was denied as though he had never set foot in Karkemesh.
Garrick’s mind raced. He sought out the other goblins from Gor who had arrived with him. Surely they remembered Rorik. But when he found them, they were shells of their former selves. Some had become utterly lost in the palace’s pleasures, barely able to form coherent sentences, while others had simply disappeared without a trace. No one knew where they had gone, and no one seemed to care.
It’s as if this city itself has swallowed them whole! Garrick’s heart pounded with fear, his mind gripped by a growing sense of dread. I need to leave – today!
The Babelonian then realized the truth – Karkemesh was a place of deceit and death, and if he stayed any longer, Garrick knew he would share the same fate. In haste he raced to his room and packed his few belongings, intent on escaping before Sindra could find him again.
As he hurried through the winding halls of the Serpent’s Embrace, he kept his head low, trying to avoid the attention of the ever-watchful slaves. The palace, once alluring and beautiful, now felt like a gilded prison, its every corner hiding some unspeakable evil. All I need to do is reach the gates and flee Karkemesh for good. But just as the exit came into view, a soft voice froze him in his tracks.
“Leaving so soon, love?”
Garrick’s heart stopped. The voice was unmistakable—soft, seductive, and deadly. He turned slowly, and there she was, standing in the archway leading to the courtyard. Sindra.
My god, she’s more beautiful than ever befroe! Garrick ate his heart out as he looked up on the goddess – Sindra was impossibly radiant, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. Her emerald eyes glistened, and her smile was both inviting and predatory. Her hair was now sun-kissed and it framed her perfect face like a halo, and the delicate fabric of her gown clung to her curves in a way that made it impossible for him to look away.
Garrick’s heart raced with fear, but his body betrayed him. He felt the familiar pull of her presence, the same magnetic force that had ensnared him from the first moment they met. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet wouldn’t move.
Lust glided toward him, every movement graceful and deliberate, as if she knew he was powerless to resist. “You seem troubled, my dear,” Sindra purred, her voice wrapping around him like velvet. “Would you leave? Surely not. For the pleasures of Karkemesh are yours for the taking. Everything you’ve ever wanted is here.”
Garrick opened his mouth to speak, to tell her about Rorik, to demand answers, but the words wouldn’t come. Her presence was overwhelming. His thoughts became muddled, his fear giving way to confusion. The allure of the divine one’s beauty clouded his mind, making it hard to remember why he had been so desperate to leave just moments ago.
Sindra reached out and placed a hand on his arm, her touch sending a shockwave of heat through his body. “You won’t go,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “You will stay with me, love. I will give you everything you desire.”
Her fingers trailed up his arm, and his goblin skin tingled in response. His heart thundered in his chest, a mix of fear and longing. He tried to speak, to voice the terror still lurking in the back of his mind, but the words died on his lips.
“You love me.” Sindra’s eyes locked onto his, her gaze piercing into his soul. “And here, with me, you can love me forever.”
Garrick’s breathing quickened. He knew he should resist, should run far away from her and this cursed city, but he couldn’t. Her presence was too powerful, too overwhelming. Every word she spoke, every brush of her skin against his, melted away his resolve.
“I—” he stammered, his thoughts a jumbled mess of fear and desire. He could feel his will crumbling under the weight of her seductive magic.
Sindra leaned closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I will give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. Knowledge, power, beauty—all that you seek is within your grasp. And you will surrender to me completely.”
Her breath on his neck sent shivers down his spine. His knees weakened, his pulse racing. She was too close now, her scent filling his senses, her body pressed lightly against his. The rational part of his mind, the part that still remembered the horrors he had witnessed, screamed at him to run, but he was drowning in her presence, in her power.
Sindra’s hand slid to his chest, her touch sending waves of heat and desire through him. “Give yourself to me,” she whispered, her lips so close to his skin.
Garrick’s resistance finally crumbled. He had no more strength left to fight, no more will to resist her. The fear, the horror of Rorik’s death, all of it faded in the face of her overwhelming allure. He was a mortal man, and she was the goddess of lust. He simply had no chance.
“I’m yours,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
Sindra’s smiled, a look of triumph in her emerald eyes. She pulled him closer, her lips brushing against his neck as she whispered, “I knew you would.”
And with that, Garrick’s fate was sealed.
The years that followed melted away, a blur of sensual delights, of pleasures so intoxicating that time itself seemed to lose meaning. Garrick no longer remembered why he had ever wanted to leave, nor did he care. His days and nights were consumed by Sindra, her touch, her voice, her magic. She was everything to him, and he had given himself to her completely.
The only question was when she would take his soul too.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 