mechanisms that made up her body. It was as
deceiving as a hurricane lurking beneath a stagnant pool; the
furious emotion acting as the Rusalka's reason for
existence.
"A c-common tale, at the
time," she began. "I lived in the northern plains with my tribe,
but during the Feshoun
Urah , the trading fes-s-stival during the
autumnal equinox, s-slavers raided our c-camp."
"Slavers in the northern plains? I didn't
realize you had them there."
"We don't," she replied
flatly. "The Feshoun Urah takes place on the outskirts of the
Howling Desert, where we meet with our desert-dwelling brother and
s-s-sister c-clans. Isoviel s-s-started its infamous priestess
c-candidacy that year. I was among the first of those honorably s-selected for
training."
Isoviel, despite being a beacon of culture and
civility on the surface, was a place not so different from the Moor
of Souls. Cruelty was administered in near-imperceptible doses upon
those with few means, like poison slowly killing its weary
victims.
While Diana knew little about the nuances of
its culture, she did know that it was a theocratic society built
upon the Goddess Korosuth. At the heart of power was the High
Priestess. While she was to remain impartial in nearly every way,
the four Orchids, her handmaidens, acted as the true expression of
power in Isoviel.
Despite elves never dying of old age, the High
Priestesses had a habit of falling to all sorts of fatal tragedies,
resulting in the increasing need for replacements.
Priestess candidates were highly respected,
but Diana couldn't determine whether it was due to the divine
aspect of their position, or out of pity. There was a saying in
Isoviel that it was better to be born an animal for slaughter than
to be a priestess potential. While Diana could never determine the
conditions that would warrant such an extreme phrase, it was
universally understood that it was there for a reason.
"I s-s-survived on s-skills I learned in the
plains," said Jiki. "Razitar aided me more than once. In c-childish
youth, I believed his flirtations c-came from love." She sighed -it
was the sound of a woman gargling underwater.
"He was playing with your
feelings?"
"He was too s-systematic for that," Jiki
corrected her. "Razitar needed knowledge exclusive to priestesses
in order to further his res-search. And he benefited from my
influence in the higher cas-s-stes... until he became a
Rûnalde'qar," she finished simply. "Eventually my harping
exc-ceeded my usefulness. He s-strangled me to death at an oasis,
and dumped my c-corpse at the Pit in Nethermountain."
"So how did you wind up in
Krisenburg?"
"I wasn't a Rusalka initially," she explained.
"The necromancers animated me in a number of fashions, until I was
too rotten to be useful. Spirit-based undead s-s-seldom form
quickly. It took me decades to get my bearings. I visited
Nethermountain often in those days," she mused, closing Diana back
up again. "Imagine my s-s-surprise when Razitar, eyes freshly
plucked from his head, fell into the Pit. Just like that, my rage,
which had been fueling me all that time, finally found its
s-s-source."
Jiki's was a complicated expression, a smile
made terrifying by the murder in her bloodshot eyes. Despite her
pleasant manner, a Rusalka was a vindictive and evil spirit; Diana
took it as a silent reminder to never get on her bad
side.
"But he was dead." Jiki closed her eyes,
slamming a clenched fist on her work station. "He had the nerve to
let himself get killed before I could repay the favor. S-so I took
his body, just so I c-c-could s-stew over it. Hatred keeps me
young, after all. Without his c-carcass I would've faded into that
pesky white tunnel c-c-centuries ago."
"It's amazing what a grudge can do for a
woman," Diana muttered, eliciting a bubbly laugh from her
friend.
"My hatred pales to yours, Diana," she beamed,
helping her sit up. Jiki handed Diana a metal hauberk to try on. "I
c-c-can't imagine the things you'd do to K-Koronos if you ever
deceiving as a hurricane lurking beneath a stagnant pool; the
furious emotion acting as the Rusalka's reason for
existence.
"A c-common tale, at the
time," she began. "I lived in the northern plains with my tribe,
but during the Feshoun
Urah , the trading fes-s-stival during the
autumnal equinox, s-slavers raided our c-camp."
"Slavers in the northern plains? I didn't
realize you had them there."
"We don't," she replied
flatly. "The Feshoun Urah takes place on the outskirts of the
Howling Desert, where we meet with our desert-dwelling brother and
s-s-sister c-clans. Isoviel s-s-started its infamous priestess
c-candidacy that year. I was among the first of those honorably s-selected for
training."
Isoviel, despite being a beacon of culture and
civility on the surface, was a place not so different from the Moor
of Souls. Cruelty was administered in near-imperceptible doses upon
those with few means, like poison slowly killing its weary
victims.
While Diana knew little about the nuances of
its culture, she did know that it was a theocratic society built
upon the Goddess Korosuth. At the heart of power was the High
Priestess. While she was to remain impartial in nearly every way,
the four Orchids, her handmaidens, acted as the true expression of
power in Isoviel.
Despite elves never dying of old age, the High
Priestesses had a habit of falling to all sorts of fatal tragedies,
resulting in the increasing need for replacements.
Priestess candidates were highly respected,
but Diana couldn't determine whether it was due to the divine
aspect of their position, or out of pity. There was a saying in
Isoviel that it was better to be born an animal for slaughter than
to be a priestess potential. While Diana could never determine the
conditions that would warrant such an extreme phrase, it was
universally understood that it was there for a reason.
"I s-s-survived on s-skills I learned in the
plains," said Jiki. "Razitar aided me more than once. In c-childish
youth, I believed his flirtations c-came from love." She sighed -it
was the sound of a woman gargling underwater.
"He was playing with your
feelings?"
"He was too s-systematic for that," Jiki
corrected her. "Razitar needed knowledge exclusive to priestesses
in order to further his res-search. And he benefited from my
influence in the higher cas-s-stes... until he became a
Rûnalde'qar," she finished simply. "Eventually my harping
exc-ceeded my usefulness. He s-strangled me to death at an oasis,
and dumped my c-corpse at the Pit in Nethermountain."
"So how did you wind up in
Krisenburg?"
"I wasn't a Rusalka initially," she explained.
"The necromancers animated me in a number of fashions, until I was
too rotten to be useful. Spirit-based undead s-s-seldom form
quickly. It took me decades to get my bearings. I visited
Nethermountain often in those days," she mused, closing Diana back
up again. "Imagine my s-s-surprise when Razitar, eyes freshly
plucked from his head, fell into the Pit. Just like that, my rage,
which had been fueling me all that time, finally found its
s-s-source."
Jiki's was a complicated expression, a smile
made terrifying by the murder in her bloodshot eyes. Despite her
pleasant manner, a Rusalka was a vindictive and evil spirit; Diana
took it as a silent reminder to never get on her bad
side.
"But he was dead." Jiki closed her eyes,
slamming a clenched fist on her work station. "He had the nerve to
let himself get killed before I could repay the favor. S-so I took
his body, just so I c-c-could s-stew over it. Hatred keeps me
young, after all. Without his c-carcass I would've faded into that
pesky white tunnel c-c-centuries ago."
"It's amazing what a grudge can do for a
woman," Diana muttered, eliciting a bubbly laugh from her
friend.
"My hatred pales to yours, Diana," she beamed,
helping her sit up. Jiki handed Diana a metal hauberk to try on. "I
c-c-can't imagine the things you'd do to K-Koronos if you ever
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