Part XVI: The Golden One
Chapter 11: The Darkness
Timeline: AO 312-320
In the years that followed, Garrick’s descent continued – and he took Queen Thirza and all of Babelon with him into the darkness.
As he continued to learn more about the secrets protected by the priests of Baal, he delved deeper into the mysteries of the faith and further advanced his standing within the Priory of the Myz. As Marduk, Garrick was already a high-ranking member of this secret society before he’d left Babel. As such he well knew that The Priory had always been a place of intrigue and shadowed power within Babel and beyond. Comprised of the elite power brokers who decided the fates of the continent, The Priory’s membership included Babelonians, Derkka, Drokka, Kanites, Southerners, and more. It was even rumored that the group included Amorosi, Atlanteans, and other mysterious races – although Garrick himself had never seen their kind at one of the cabals. Regardless, one thing was for certain – The Priory had its hands in every corner of affairs for all the people of TerrVerde – guiding and manipulating events from the shadows and enriching the elites who drove the policy – Garrick among them.
Upon his return from Ramos, the members of the Priory’s upper crust had welcomed Garrick, eager to bask in the reflected glory of his newfound beauty and power, and hungry to use his contacts to build their own wealth. They’d initially balked at The Marduk’s unheard of request to become the High Priest of Baal, but an appearance by Sindra herself had overcome that minor roadblock. And so it was that Garrick became the pawn through which Sindra gained control of this cabal.
Building upon the political benefits from his marriage to the Mersian princess, The Priory’s meetings became a stage for Garrick’s ascendance into power that propelled his influence beyond just his homeland – exactly as the goddess had promised him. He dazzled his fellow courtiers with his wit, his charm, and his seemingly divine insight – and all the while he manipulated the council, pushing them toward decisions that served Sindra’s purposes.
At the same time, Garrick continued to train under the cleric Vorkath as he pursued his quest to become Baal’s Priest. Yet here the price for knowledge was steep and it pulled The Golden One into an evil world he never could have fathomed. Although he’d perpetrated violence and mayhem countless times on the field of battle, the atrocities of war paled in comparison to the horrors and sorrow that confronted him from the victims of Baal. And while Garrick had participated in some of the blood rituals of The Priory’s worship of Baal in the past – and had even experienced the thrill of consuming adenochrome – he’d never really understood the Feast of the Shadows ritual until he became a priest – and what he learned there horrified him.
And yet for all the evils of the rituals of Baal, those gruesome rites (and especially The Feast) were additive to it’s participants – and Garrick was not immune to their allure. The Marduk loved The Feast the most – for when the blood of a young victim touched his lips, a surge of energy coursed through him, restoring his youth and enhancing his physical allure. But with each ceremony, the addiction grew stronger, and the price became more than just the lives of others. It began to consume him from within, a darkness that slowly eroded his soul.
Over time Garrick’s once-proud demeanor became hollow, his laughter tinged with bitterness. The man who had once been a fearsome warrior now found himself caught in a web of his own making, tangled in the desires and ambitions that had once driven him. Is this what Sindra has planned all along? He wondered.
As Garrick changed inside so too did his vision of Babelon – instead of shimmering Golden gates and a palace adorned with carvings of battle, gods and gold, The Marduk began to make the artisans add the grotesque visages of demons and the spirits of Illusia as well as countless homages to Sindra. Once, they had inspired a sense of awe and reverence in him, a reminder of the ancient power and legacy his people claimed. But now, as he gazed upon them, he felt only a hollow echo of the man he once was. His heart, once devoted to the mysteries of knowledge and the glory of the Derkka people and especially the Babelonian race, was now a darkened vessel, filled with a relentless hunger and the memory of pleasures that had consumed his soul.
And yet, in spite of the darkness taking control of his insides, Garrick’s appearance only grew more glamorous. His skin was flawless, his body sculpted to perfection by the dark magics of the jungle, and his eyes glowed with an unnatural light. Those who looked upon him saw a man who had defied the ravages of time, a Babelonian goblin who had surely been blessed by the gods themselves. But beneath this perfect exterior, a deep and unquenchable thirst gnawed at him—not just the ever present anxiety that he was ‘less than,’ but now an added thirst for blood, for power, and for the intoxicating allure of Evil’s forbidden delights.
And what of Garrick Thirza – the stunning princess from far away Mersia. An alliance with Mersia on the far east coast of TerrVerde had given Garrick’s people alliance that spanned the continent and surrounded their rivals the Drokka on both sides of the mountain. As for Thirza, the young woman was a vision of perfection, her beauty rivaling even Garrick’s – although this was a fact that did NOT endear her to him.
For her part Thirza, like the rest of Babelon, was captivated by Garrick’s beauty and the mystery that surrounded him. She was drawn to him as moths are drawn to flame, blinded by the brilliance of his exterior, never seeing the darkness that lurked beneath – at least not in the beginning.
Their wedding was the grand affair that Thirza had already dreamed of and her husband played his part well that night. The princess was not naive to understand that Garrick was marrying her more for political gain than love, but she’d still held out hope that the beautiful Babelonian would not only find her attractive but also grow to love her over time. Sadly that is not what happened.
As a passionate young woman, Thirza had relished the intimacy of her wedding night – as well as the many times Garrick ravished her on the days that followed. Yet she was somewhat shocked by the depths of debauchery and excess that her husband requested of her. She began to feel that Garrick sought to drown his own emptiness in the pleasures of the flesh with her. But no matter how much he indulged, it seemed he found no relief, no satisfaction. Thirza, unaware of the true source of his anguish, tried desperately to please her husband, to be the perfect wife and lover. But nothing she did could quell the storm that raged within him.
There was one type of love making that was particularly strange to Thirza – of a kind that none had ever described to her before. I the privacy of their bedchamber, Garrick would drink from her, his lips pressed against her soft skin as if he drew life from her veins. She thought it was a strange of intimacy, perhaps unique to Babel, yet she embraced it as a way for them to be closer. What she didn’t know is that, for Garrick, it was nearly a means of survival, a way to sate the endless hunger that now gnawed at him day and night. He took only enough to keep himself satisfied, careful not to harm her, for she was a valuable pawn in Sindra’s game. But even as he drank, he knew it was not enough. It would never be enough.
In the months that followed their marriage, Thirza’s joy soon turned to confusion, then to fear. The radiant king she had married showed her no warmth outside the bedroom, and even there he was consumed by something…evil.
Thirza began to fear the nights – for Garrick took more than just her body—he drained her spirit, feeding off her youth and vitality in ways she could not understand. At first, she kept telling herself it was the ‘passion’ of this man whose beauty was like no other, but soon the marks on her skin and the ever-growing weariness in her bones told a different story.
Garrick’s addiction to her blood was not his only vice. Thirza didn’t know that The Jungle had also introduced her husband to pleasures that went beyond the physical, intoxicants that expanded his mind and transported him to realms of ecstasy he had never imagined. In Ramos, Garrick had partaken of many of the sacred fruits and elixirs that Sindra’s people offered – substances that unlocked hidden parts of his psyche and connected him to the dark forces that ruled the land. After he’d returned to Babel, Garrick had sought these substances with a desperate need, using his wealth and influence to procure them from the most secretive of merchants and alchemists. Long before Thirza arrived, Garrick’s night were spent in a haze of visions and nightmares, as the jungle reached out to him, calling him back to the pleasures he had left behind. In those moments of altered consciousness, Garrick would often see Sindra, feel her presence beside him, hear her voice whispering in his ear. She’d urged him on, feeding his addictions, tightening her grip on his soul. It was a secret union that had continued even after his marriage to Thirza.
Beneath the pain of so much pleasure, Garrick’s nights of indulgence took a toll on Thirza – she began to wither under the strain of her husband’s insatiable appetites. She became pale and weak, her once vibrant spirit slowly drained away by the man she had married. Yet she remained devoted to him, unable to see the monster he had become. The people of Babelon whispered that she was ill, that the marriage had taken a toll on her, but Garrick paid them no mind. His only concern was his next pleasure, his next taste of blood, his next escape into the world of dreams and nightmares.
Thirza’s decline was thus inevitable.
The once radiant princess become a pale shadow of herself, her beauty drained by the dark forces that consumed her husband. So far away from home, among a people that had never really been given a chance to get to know her, Thirza found little comfort to aid her.
On the night of her death, Garrick stood over her body, staring into the lifeless eyes that had once looked at him with such love and hope – yet The Golden One felt nothing.
The body of his unfortunate queen was taken away for burial by Vorkath, and The Priory worked on a suitable story to satisfy the minds of the people as well as adequate compensation for King Oromond. Yet for his part, only a cold whisper echoed in Garrick’s mind. It was Sindra’s voice, triumphant and dark. “You have done well, my love. Fear not, for I am with you always.”
Naturally Garrick didn’t believe the goddess, but there wasn’t much he could do. He knew his soul was utterly destroyed, and he knew now that he was no longer king, priest, or warrior. He was merely Sindra’s tool, a puppet in her game against the gods. And the gods, in their high heavens and low hells, watched with delight as the poor man fell but further to his doom.
As the years passed, whilst Hacktor Derkillez continued his war, Garrick let his Babelonian Generals and Gwar’s Myz warriors control the Drokka. Meanwhile, The Marduk did indeed ascend to the rank of High Priest of Baal. Upon the final sacrifice of Vorkath to the god they both served, Garrick’s power within Babel became absolute. The rituals that once horrified him had by now become his greatest pleasure.
In the dark recesses of the temple, where light barely penetrated, Garrick led countless blood rituals that honored both Baal and Sindra. Slaves, chained and broken, young and old, from every race on the continent, were brought before him, their adrenochrome extracted through gruesome ceremonies. Their blood, rich with the vitality of fear, was consumed by Garrick, his priests, and the elites of The Priory – granting them all unnatural strength and youth.
As Garrick’s influence within the Priory grew, so too did the darkness that surrounded the secret society. Sindra’s reach extended through him, infecting the very heart of the cabal with her dark magic. The Priory became a tool for her machinations, its members blinded by their own ambitions and desires that were sparked by the goddess’s temptations.
Garrick led them into a pact with the jungle, promising them power and immortality in exchange for their loyalty to Ramos. The Priory, enamored by the promises of eternal youth and beauty, agreed without hesitation. They drank from the same chalice as Garrick, partaking of the blood that kept them young and vibrant, unaware that they were binding their souls to a power far greater and more malevolent than they could comprehend. The transformation was slow, but inevitable.
The members of the Priory began to change, their appearances growing more beautiful, their bodies more youthful, but at a terrible cost. Their minds, once sharp and cunning, became clouded with lust and desire, their ambitions twisted into a dark parody of their former selves. They were no longer the masters of their own destinies, but slaves to the jungle and its queen.
And Garrick, the pawn who had led them down this dark path, watched as his city and his people succumbed to the very forces he had once sought to control. The man who had left Babel in search of knowledge and power had returned as an emissary of darkness, his soul corrupted, his will broken. He was Sindra’s creature now, a living vessel for her dark designs, and there was no turning back. As the city of Babel fell deeper into the shadows, Garrick stood at its center, a beautiful and tragic figure, his once bright future consumed by the darkness he had embraced. . And in the depths of his soul, Garrick knew that he had lost everything—his honor, his humanity, his very soul—all in the pursuit of pleasures that had only brought him ruin.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 