Part XVI: The Golden One
Chapter 10: The Princess of Mersia
Timeline: AO 312
As the night deepened, Garrick sat alone in the shadows in his bedroom. The weight of his advancement through the ranks of Baal’s priesthood during the last few years now pressed on him – an unseen hand that threatened to crush him beneath its ever growing demands. The city of Babel continued to thrive under his rule and was becoming a living monument to his own growing power, and his new Golden Palace was coming along nicely too – so much had it progressed that the Marduk was now able to move his residence there even as the work continued all around. And yet, there was a hidden element to the city that reflected a growing emptiness within its king.
“I hate this place.” Garrick paced nervously back and forth in front of a mirror, his fingers constantly brushing through his hair, checking his reflection as if it might disappear at any moment. His once-proud demeanor had faded into a mix of anxiety and frustration. “I miss Ramos. The palace… the pleasures, the luxury. I didn’t sign up to be stuck here in this… this wasteland of blood and shadows!”
It was in this silent, oppressive moment that the goddess Sindra appeared. Her form was draped in flowing, shadowy silks that shimmered faintly in the candlelight of the room, her presence ethereal and unnerving, as if she belonged to both the mortal world and some distant, unknowable plane. She sat cross-legged on a plush cushion of velvet near Garrick’s bed, her eyes half-closed, a look of serene detachment on her face. In front of her, a shallow basin of still water reflected the flickering lights, though it gave off no reflections of Sindra herself.
“Well, it’s about time.” The Marduk whined. “I’ve been calling out to you for weeks. Where have you been?”
Yet Sindra remained silent, her breath slow and measured, as she looked up on her pawn with a smirk.
Garrick groaned audibly, his pacing becoming more agitated. “Ach, you don’t care about me. I’m telling you that I’m going to lose my beauty in this place!” he continued, staring at his reflection again, running his fingers over his cheekbones, searching for any sign of imperfection. “The air here… it’s dry, stale. My skin is starting to crack, and my hair… my hair’s getting limp.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, a hint of panic seeping through. “What if I start to look like Vorkath? A shriveled, pale shell of a man? It’s disgusting.”
Sindra’s lips twitched as a chuckle escaped, but still, she said nothing.
“And this priesthood of Baal… it’s revolting, I tell you.” Garrick pointed accusingly at the goddess. “You know I never wanted to be some high priest, sacrificing slaves and drinking their blood. Do you know what that does to my hands? I’ve had to scrub them raw to get the stains out!” He raised his hands dramatically, flexing his fingers as if showing off the invisible marks of his discontent. “They used to be smooth, perfect when I was in the jungle. Now they’re rough, calloused! It’s beneath me.”
The tall Babelonian stopped pacing and turned to Sindra, his eyes wide and pleading. “Are you listening to me, my love?”
“Ah, Garrick,” Lust finally replied, her voice soft and melodic, yet filled with detached amusement, “so much vanity, so much fear.” She gestured lazily toward the basin of water before her and its surface rippling slightly, though she had not touched it. “Do you know what I see in the future? Beauty is fleeting, my dear. But power… is eternal.”
Garrick frowned, his hands fidgeting as he tried to process her words. “But I don’t want eternal power if it means looking like one of these corpses walking around. And this place… it’s vile. I miss the palace in Ramos, the warm breeze, the gardens, the pleasures of the city. The wine, the freedom….you.” His voice trailed off wistfully, a faraway look in his eyes. “We had everything there, didn’t we?” When the goddess didn’t reply, he tried another route. “I’m wasting away here, love. Why don’t you let me return? Here, they call me a Marduk, a king, but we both know I’m nothing but a servant. A slave to Baal’s will – and yours. I didn’t… I didn’t expect it to be like this. The blood rituals, the chanting. It’s…”
“Beneath you?” Sindra finished his sentence for him, her smile widening. “Of course it is. And yet, you agreed. You made the choice to walk this path. You wanted beauty and power, Garrick. You craved them. Did you think they would come without sacrifice?”
Garrick winced at the word. “But why does it have to be this way? Why can’t I have the power and the beauty without the service to Baal?I… I hate it here, Sindra.” His voice broke slightly, and he looked away, ashamed of his own weakness. “I’m starting to hate myself.”
Sindra’s smirked again, and she reached out, her slender fingers brushing his arm gently. “Poor Garrick,” she whispered, her voice like silk. “You are still so young. You think you can hold on to everything—your beauty, your freedom, your pleasures—and still rise to greatness. But you must learn that all of those things are fleeting distractions. True power comes only to those who are willing to let go of what they once held dear.”
“But I don’t want to let go,” he muttered, his fists clenched. “Why can’t you understand that? I can’t stand the thought of losing… losing this.” He gestured vaguely to his own face, his perfectly sculpted features that he had always prided himself on. “Alas, you’re the only one who’s ever understood me.”
Sindra tilted her head, studying him for a moment. Her smile faded, replaced by something colder, more calculating. “I do understand you, Garrick. More than you know. And that is why you need me, why you serve me. You are destined for far greater things than you can imagine. But you must stop clinging to these petty desires.”
Garrick blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice shaky. “What am I destined for?”
“You have done well, Garrick,” Lust replied, her voice now like the hiss of wind through the jungle. “But there is much more you must do.”
Flummoxed, Garrick knelt before the image of the goddess, trying to compose himself. “What more do you ask of me, my love? I have given my soul, my will, my very life to you.”
Sindra’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. “The gods demand more than blood, Garrick. You must take the next step and think about your lineage, your legacy. You must marry again.”
The words struck him like a blow. He had not expected this. “Marry? I need no queen. My rule is secure.”
Sindra’s image moved closer, her form shimmering with power. “You will marry Thirza, a princess of Mersia. The alliance will strengthen your rule, and she will bear you heirs who will serve me as you do.”
Garrick’s pulse quickened. “I don’t want this. I have no desire to wed another unless it’s you. I always thought it would be you, my love! Isn’t that why I am doing all…this?”
Sindra’s gaze hardened. “Don’t be a fool. I am THE Goddess. You are a mortal. The best you can hope for is that I might pay some attention to you. Be grateful for love – and remember, I can always take it away.” Seeing the big man cower, her image reached out a hand and raised him by the chin. “You will marry Thirza, Garrick. This is not a request. This is your fate and it has already been written.” And then she leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. “If you do what I require then you will become more than a marduk, more than a priest of Baal. You will transcend them all, Garrick of the Golden Hand. But only if you submit.”
Still kneeling, Garrick swallowed hard, his chest tightening with both fear and anticipation. He barely managed to squeak, “And if I don’t?”
Sindra’s smile returned, colder than before. “Then you will fade into obscurity for I will abandon you. You’ll quickly become forgotten relic, powerless and…horribly ugly. A shadow of what you could have been.”
Her words cut deep, and Garrick turned away in horror, staring into the distance. The pleasures of Ramos, the warmth of the palace, the admiration of the masses, and the beauty he’d gained—it all seemed so far away now, slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers.
“I just want…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Hush. I know what you want, love.” Sindra purred, her voice wrapping around him like velvet. “Just listen to me and you will get all that you want…and more.”
Garrick didn’t respond. He stared into the flickering candlelight, his thoughts a tangled mess of longing and dread.
Half a year later, the marriage of Garrick of the Golden Hand to Princess Thirza of Mersia was the grandest affair Babel (or even TerrVerde) had seen in generations. Babelonian elites, Derkka nobles from Gor and Kra, and foreign dignitaries from all corners of TerrVerde attended – including Ssu-Ra-Val’Khaz and his entourage from Thulsa, Aslan (Regent of Regalis Forest) and a host of Amorosi, and of course King Oromond and Queen Oria from Mersia, along with many others.
The grand hall of Babel, towering over the city of Gor, was the site for the illustrious event – a spectacle of wealth and power. The vast marble floors were covered with intricate mosaics depicting the victories of Baal, while towering pillars wrapped in golden vines stretched toward the high ceilings. Goblets of precious metals brimmed with wine, and the scent of rare spices from across the seas lingered in the air. Hours earlier Garrick and Thirza had completed the marriage rites – with the priests Vorkath of Baal and Archmage Selenar of Mersia conducting the rites for the joining of the two faiths.
The ceremony itself was a blur. Garrick recited the vows mechanically, his thoughts consumed by the emptiness inside him. Thirza stood beside him in a gown of pure silver and emerald. Her hair was styled high, adorned with jeweled combs that sparkled with the wealth of her homeland. Yet for all her beauty, the girl was a queen Garrick did not want, and so the void within him only deepened. When the last of the oaths were spoken, and the royal court erupted in cheers, Garrick forced a smile, the mask of a king, while inside, the hunger for something else grew stronger.
As it stood, the new bride and groom were now seated at the head table, overlooking a vast hall of guests, everyone celebrating the nuptials. Thirza was positively radiant and her every move showcased a grace that took the breath of all who watched. Her beauty was unmatched in the hall that day (save perhaps by Garrick himself), and yet to the Golden One his new bride was a disappointment.
Thirza’s home kingdom of Mersia was the richest province in all of TerrVerde. Her father Oromand ruled the eastern coasts, where trade flowed from distant lands and wealth was as abundant as water. The Marduk well knew that an alliance between Mersia and Gor would provide countless benefits to the Derkka and ensure the dominance of his house for generations. Yet even this knowledge couldn’t excite Garrick. He glanced down at Thirza, her eyes gleaming with excitement, and tried to muster a smile. His mind, though, drifted elsewhere—to Sindra, his forbidden love, and to the pleasures of the past that felt distant and unreachable. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his ceremonial sword as he leaned over to address her, yet his voice laced with boredom. “I suppose you’re pleased with all this spectacle?”
Thirza’s laughter was light, carefree. “Why wouldn’t I be? This is a day to celebrate! We’re securing a future for both our peoples. And look at all of those who wish us well.” She gestured toward the gathered royals. “Even your enemies of are here!”
This much was true – for Garrick’s wedding was a de facto gathering of the elites of the entire continent. As a result, it was an event that simply could not be missed by certain high powered guests from the Drokka kingdom – including, among others, Lord Thane and Aric Rukstinz, Monty Redstone, Malchior Der Naves, and even Queen Hecla and her children Livy, Uria, and baby Jini. How could the Drokka safely travel to Babel across the enemy lands of Gor and Kra while a on-going war was still taking place between their people? Such worries are for commoners – the ones who fight and die. The elites don’t waste time on such trifles. Royal weddings are all about appearances of The Who’s Who of the World and as such there was never a question as to if the Drokka bigwigs would attend – they were granted safe passage by Garrick himself and gladly accepted. Only Hacktor Derkillez and Mirkir the Wyze refused the invitations – stubbornly placing their ‘morals’ above their civic duty – much to Queen Hecla’s ire.
Yet, like Hacktor, Garrick too didn’t care much for his civic duty or the opportunity for political intrigue that most of the courtiers were here for. He replied to his bride in a flat tone. “Yes, the guest list is all very impressive. But do you enjoy the idea of being married to a man who barely knows you? Or worse…who barely cares?”
Thirza’s eyes narrowed, yet she showed no surprise. “You might not care now, husband, but you will. I am no mere token. Mersia’s wealth flows through me, and soon enough, you’ll see the value of this union. Besides…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, “There are worse things than being married princess.”
His blood stirred at the beautiful woman’s offering, The Golden One smiled as he reached a hand under the table to caress her leg. “We’ll see about that soon.” Yet even as he said it, the king’s eyes flickered around the room, searching for one figure—Sindra. Yet the goddess wasn’t there and his jaw tightened with anger. How could she orchestrate this useless event and not even appear?
Garrick sighed, looking over the crowd. The hall was indeed filled with a who’s who of the elite from far-flung lands. His restless mind turned to the power players around the room, each with their own schemes and alliances, all whispering and plotting behind the veil of celebration.
Ssu-Ra Val’Khaz was off in a corner with Monty Redstone. Dressed in a crimson robe, Val’Khaz’ was not one to miss an opportunity to strengthen his own position. His voice hissed softly as he leaned in to speak with the Drokka Coinmaster. “So, Redstone, I hear your shipments of blackwood have been… lighter than usual. Trouble in the forests?”
Monty, ever the boastful figure, sipped his wine with a smirk. “Trouble? Not at all. Just re-evaluating who gets what. You wouldn’t believe the demand these days. Wars tend to inflate prices. But you, Lord Val’Khaz, how is Ramos with its pirates?”
Val’Khaz’s smile was thin, predatory. “We manage. But let’s not pretend, Redstone—we both know alliances like these are fragile. Today, we toast to a union, but who knows what tomorrow brings?”
Monty chuckled, leaning closer. “Perhaps I’ll have to find a buyer with more… immediate needs. Perhaps in Ramos?” He raised his goblet, the glint in his eye unmistakable.
Across the room, the dwarves Thane and Arik Rukstinz stood by similar pillars, the wealthy bankers exchanging quiet words. Thane, the elder, was calculating as always, his eyes scanning the crowd for opportunities.
“This is a spectacle, Father,” Arik said, his voice low. “But do you trust any of them?”
Thane shook his head. “Of course not. But they don’t need to know that. Let them dance around, and we’ll see where the chips fall. Mersia’s gold could grease the wheels of our business—especially with the war. But be cautious. Keep your distance from Garrick; he’s unpredictable.”
Meanwhile, Hecla Derkillez sat stiffly at her table, trying to manage her children. Her son Uria, now nine, was acting like a brat, and her baby Jini (just two) was whining. Meanwhile her teenage daughter Livy was flirting with every boy in the room. Needless to say, it wasn’t much of a fun time for the Drokka Queen. She wasn’t surprised when her husband Hacktor had refused to attend – believing that this wedding spat on the cause he fought for – but she’d expected to find some enjoyment on her side. Instead she sat as mostly an afterthought as a side table, her mind was now far from the event. And so it was that Hecla’s gaze couldn’t help but flickered toward Belgrath – the famous bard who was preparing to sing. The sight of him stirred feelings she had buried deep inside but which now threatened to break forth.
With the food and drink in full swing and his musicians now ready, Belgrath began to pluck the strings of his harp. The room fell into an expectant silence as the famous bard stepped forward, his voice soft at first but soon growing in strength, a playful glint in his eye as he cast fleeting glances around the room – briefly stopping on Garrick and Hecla along the way.
The wine flowed as the bard and his troupe crowed – much to the delight of the audience. Once again Belgrath lived up to his fame – putting on a show that would be remembered for years to come as he sang the classic songs that so many of the attendees loved him for.
But then it was that Belgrath took a pause, and grabbing a quick draught of ale to whet his throat, he gave a nod to his group and they struck a new chord.
I don’t know this one, and This is new! were heard in hushed excitement around the hall as the people became giddy with anticipation at being graced with a new release from the singer. And so it was that Belgrath began to sing…
A heart divided, torn in two,
One half gold, the other blue,
The gold for power, wealth, and pride,
The blue for love that mustn’t hide.Yet in the shadows of royal walls,
Who knows which half first stumbles, falls?
For in the eyes of those who crave,
Both heart and throne may be their grave.
The ballad was slow, melancholy, and filled with emotion – the perfect showcase for the bard’s lustrous voice. And more than a few hearts began to melt in that hall.
A flame once burned in secret’s shade,
A bond of hearts, now doomed to fade,
One lover yearns for what was lost,
The other pays a silent cost.
Although he didn’t look her way, Hecla felt her face grow hot at Belgrath’s verses. She handed Jini off to Uria to hold, as the world around her faded away and she became lost within the bard’s siren song.
And yet she watches still so near,
Her silent longing masked by cheer,
Does she hold that secret flame,
Or is it trapped within the other’s fame?
Queen Hecla tried to remained expressionless, but inside, her heart raced. She felt as if her very soul had been laid bare and everyone in the room could see her desires. Yet ever the master, Belgrath let his once lover off the hook as his eyes then briefly flicked to Garrick.
A queen in waiting, fair and bright,
But shadows creep beneath the light,
The golden lord, his gaze astray,
From loyal hearts, his thoughts betray.He dreams of lands across the sea,
Of pleasures past and wild, carefree,
But duty’s chains, they bind him still,
Though restless heart defies his will.
The Marduk’s jaw clenched, for the master’s song highlighted a reflection of his own inner turmoil. Yet still Belgrath crooned…
For fate, it weaves a twisted thread,
With whispered words and hearts misled,
A bride may smile, a groom may bow,
But who will wear the thorned crown now?Beware, oh queen, of golden pride,
For love and power rarely bide,
And though the dance of life seems grand,
Beware the fate that fate has planned.The sea may crash, the mountains quake,
But hearts will bend, and hearts will break,
A storm may rise, a vow may fall,
Who then will stand to claim it all?
By the time the sad song ended, countless sobs and sighs could be heard throughout the hall as party members raised their mugs, hugged her neighbors, and hummed along to the melancholy tune – the hearts of all touched by the reed. Hecla had grabbed Jini as an excuse to leave part way through the song, whilst Garrick’s mood darkened as well. As Belgrath and his troupe drank in the applause of the crowd, the Marduk bowed his head, taking a long sip from his goblet.
Thirza, sensing Garrick’s discomfort, leaned in again, her smile unwavering. “You need to relax, husband. Tis but a sad song. Let is not dampen our celebration…and what’s to come.”
“Our Celebration?” Garrick muttered, setting his goblet down. “Little girl, do you really think any of these people care about us?”
“They care about power,” Thirza replied smoothly. “And by marrying me, you’ve just secured the most powerful kingdom on the coast. Don’t be so quick to dismiss what this union brings.”
Before Garrick could respond, Malchior der Naves, that high ranking priest of the Drokka and essential advisor to the crown, took the opportunity to approach, his robes flowing as he moved with a quiet authority. “Marduk Garrick,” he said, his voice deep and formal, “I trust you find the blessings of this union favorable.”
“Favorable enough,” Garrick replied, trying to appear casual “How fares the enemy faith, Malchior?”
“Well enough, Marduk.” Malchoir chuckled. “The faithful grow restless, as they always do in times of war. But Mirkir and I remind them to fear not, for the, er… gods have chosen their sides, right?” Malchior’s eyes gleamed and Garrick laughed – for although Thirza didn’t catch the inside joke, the Marduk and the cleric were both members of the same shadow elite group that was writing the history of the continent.
As the night wore on, the room buzzed with continued whispers of alliances and betrayal. The wealthy Rukstinz made their rounds, exchanging quiet words with power players seeking capital for their ventures – scoring a rather large agreement with Ssu-Ra Val’Khaz. Meanwhile Monty Redstone haggled over the future of blackwoods trade – trying to convince the Amorosi that even though they lived in vast forests, none of their wood could compete with that which he offered. Even Belgrath, now that he was relaxing amongst his fans, listened carefully as the powerful plotted and schemed, always keeping his ear to the ground for information that might be useful later.
Occasionally, Garrick’s eyes flicked over his new in-laws. King Oromand and his queen were seated to the left of their daughter. Whenever the Marduk spoke to his new bride, he inevitably caught the eye of Oromand. The Mersian ruler was tall like Garrick, with broad shoulders and a thick mane of silver-streaked black hair. Now in his early fifties, Oromand was still robust, though Garrick could see that the responsibilities of kingship and his large family of no less than ten children had etched lines of weariness into his face.
He rules over a coastal jewel. Garrick well knew the reasons why Sindra had orchestrated the marriage. Mersia was a kingdom that had acquired its immense wealth long ago through mastery of the sea. Their merchant fleet continued to dominate the eastern waters, trading in precious metals, spices, and exotic goods from distant lands. Popular legends claimed their explorers discovered vast stores of gold and gemstones on the islands to the east which propelled their financial positions far above their rivals making Mersia the richest and most stable kingdom in TerrVerde. And with alliances that were spread across the continent through various marriages, Garrick knew his in-laws well aware that their influence spanned the continent and beyond.
Within the crowd at large, other members of the Mersian entourage roamed. Lord Cassian of The Isles, a shrewd diplomat, known for his ability to negotiate trade deals that always seem to favor Mersia had found an eager partner in Monty Redstone. General Emrik Valorian, who managed the kingdom’s formidable navy, was plying the ear of numerous military comrades from among the Drokka and Amorosi. And Archmage Selenar, Oromand’s chief sorcerer, was talking shop with Vorkath and Malchior.
On the surface, King Oromand and Queen Oria viewed Garrick as a suitable match for their daughter Thirza. The Babelonian’s physical beauty was undeniable, something that impressed them both when they first met him. Oromand also saw in Garrick the qualities of a leader, but perhaps most importantly, an opportunity – by marrying their daughter to the ruler of the west, he ensured Mersia’s influence would span far beyond that of any rival. Garrick knew all of this for it was obvious.
Yet what the Babelonian did not know was that despite their appreciation for his outward charm and the strategic benefits of the union, Oromand and his wife were not blind to Garrick’s flaws. In the short time they’d spent together Oromand quickly found Garrick’s vanity and impatience tiresome. The Marduk’s obsession with his beauty and his yearning for pleasure remind Oromand of the spoiled nobility of other courts—men who focused too much on appearances and too little on the long game of power. Luckily for Garrick, the Mersian king was content to play the game of power – willing to sacrifice his daughter – and Garrick too – if it meant an opportunity to increase his kingdom’s fortunes.
And so the event wore on – with Garrick continuing to wonder if there was any escape from the gilded prison the goddess had built for him. The night was far from over, yet it had become a bitter reminder of the chains he wore—chains of power, of duty, and of unfulfilled desires.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 