Recruitment
Winter of Year 689, Gilnas City
In a nondescript building, a man who could be described as painfully average looking was reviewing paperwork in front of him. Each one was some of the most exceptionally dry writing describing a few of the most supernatural events in recorded history. Mass hauntings, rusalki sightings, instances of Eigengrau speaking, necromancy, even confirmed cases of possession.
He sighed and shoved it all aside. It was all so tiresome, and even the most fantastical events become boring when you deal with them every day. Not a day went by that he didn't wish for something truly unexpected to happen. The Garrison had been working for years on trying to work out if rusalki could speak, as any survivors of rusalki sightings had never gotten close enough to talk to them, since they would always dive underwater and vanish. It was a topic he often pondered when he had a chance and soon he'd finally have an answer, though he didn't know it yet.
His idle thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Or rather, where his door should be. They still hadn't found it after it walked off, and the carpenters claimed the frame was haunted and refused to work on anything going into it. Looking up, he was quite flabbergasted to see an Optio peaking around the corner like a schoolboy.
"Soldier, what is it?" He asked with a sigh. "Did Jackson break something priceless again?"
"There's someone in the foyer, Praetor Sir. They're ummm... asking to see you." The Optio stuttered out.
This was interesting, he thought to himself. Why was he so afraid? It bore further investigation and so he opted to stand up.
"Report, Optio Davidson. Who or what is waiting downstairs for me?" The Praetor asked as he donned his formal robes.
"There's a man and he has a rusalka with him, Sir. She's in chains and screaming in a language none of us have ever heard. Two Tesserarius have already died, cursed to death it looks like." Optio Davidson said, sweat beading on his forehead.
The Praetor paused. Now that he mentioned it, he could hear some sort of distant screaming. "How dead?"
"Centurion Herydark's begun necromantic rituals to resurrect them, so we haven't lost personnel yet." Davidson replied. He never was fond of that creepy black haired elf.
"Good, good. Standard curse protection rituals, then." The Praetor said, briefly clapping his hands together.
The Praetor gently pushed Davidson out of the way and began to walk toward the foyer. As he drew closer, he felt a strange sense of dread as he approached, like he was on his way to confront a predator. Of course, a rusalki is a predator in a way, he supposed. As he opened the door that connected the hallway to the foyer, he was hit with the full assault of the rusalki's voice.
"Отпустите меня! Я вас всех убью!" She screeched, straining against the glowing white chains binding her. "Принц Падения Луны оторвет вам головы!"
"Feisty, isn't she?" The man who had brought her in stated. "One living rusalka, as stated in your bounty offer."
"Fascinating, these look like a Vordean Church binding spell." The Praetor said, examining the rusalki as she thrashed about on the ground. "Pay the man, she's quite alive."
"Умри!" She shouted, and another soldier fell over dead on the spot.
"How is she still casting those curses?" The Praetor asked as more soldiers appeared to drag away the now quite dead soldier.
"Frankly I'm not sure how she's even still speaking. I've got her bound tightly enough to kill a sea serpent." He admitted. "I'll be off now, you gentlemen can enjoy her as you wish." He added with a smile as a sack of coins was placed in his hand by a hooded woman, who turned and walked off.
"Orders Sir?" An Optio asked as the man opened the front door and left the foyer. "Where should we take her?"
"Take her to the basement." He said after thinking for a moment. "Also prepare as large of a tub of water as practical."
"Right away, Sir!" The Optio shouted, saluting before running off with two other soldiers.
The Praetor stroked his chin as he thought. The mystery of if they could speak was quite solved at this point. The new one would be bridging the language barrier, he supposed. Crouching next to the rusalki, he locked eyes with her.
"Hello. Can you understand me?" He asked in a calm voice.
"Of course I can!" She hissed at him. "Let me go and I kill you quickly."
"Well that makes things simpler. Let's start by introducing ourselves, hmmm?" The Praetor asked.
"Do you introduce yourself to cattle before you kill them?" The rusalki spat back at him.
The Praetor paused for a moment, as she did have a point after all. Undeterred, he pressed on. "Let's pretend I do. My name is Praetor Zell Winters, with the Spiritual Garrison."
The rusalki eyed him suspiciously. She'd heard of the Garrison of course, both in whispers from the dead and read in the many books located in the Sunken Depths. But to be speaking with the mythical Praetor himself? The plan worked, then.
"So you are real." She said, showing off her sharp teeth in a grin. "The Praetor of the Garrison is real."
"Well, appearances are deceiving, Miss?" Zell asked.
"Svetlana. You dead." She said, staring at him with unblinking eyes.
"Is that a threat?" Zell asked, narrowing his eyes.
"You have fooled them, but you cannot fool me. You dead. For long time." Svetlana said, her dead pale blue eyes staring directly at Zell.
"Among many of the things we'll discuss downstairs." Zell said curtly. "You willing to cooperate, or do I have to drag you down there?"
Svetlana laughed sharply and flexed her arms, causing the chains to crack, and then break. She hopped to her feet and in one smooth motion had her hand around Zell's neck.
"Here of my own volition I am, dead man." Svetlana said threateningly, as the soldiers in the foyer began shouting and hurling magic at her. "Tell them stop, or gets worse."
"A trap." Zell whispered.
"Exactly." Svetlana snarled, the gills on her neck flaring. "I needed to know if you real."
"Soldiers, cease!" Zell shouted, much to their surprise. "I'll be going to the basement with our... guest." He added as diplomatically as possible. "Svetlana, if you would."
Still grinning, she released her grip on Zell. "Lead the way, dead man."
"Tell the Praefectus Castrorum. Seal the basement. Nobody in or out." Zell whispered to a Centurion as he turned a corner and started down a narrow stone staircase. Svetlana turned her head 180 degrees and grinned at the Centurion briefly as she followed Zell.
Svetlana heard the telltale sound of a barrier spell as she crossed the threshold at the bottom of the first set of stairs, and decided to have some fun with Zell. With lightning speed, she pushed him to the ground and straddled him, both hands on his neck. She leaned down close and breathed heavily on his face, exposing her razor sharp teeth designed for tearing flesh.
"They lock us in. Who would save you?" Svetlana asked, letting drool drip out onto his face.
Zell didn't struggle, and instead his skin simply disappeared, leaving a skull staring mockingly at Svetlana. "You're right." He cackled, as a skeletal hand reached up and gripped her with surprising force. "I've been dead for a very long time indeed. Decades? Centuries? They wheel past in a blur, rusalki. Since we're alone now, play time is at an end."
Zell effortlessly pushed Svetlana off him, as she struggled against his supernatural strength. Picking himself up off the ground with ease, he hauled Svetlana to her feet, and extended a skeletal hand toward her.
"Are we at an accord?" He asked in his rattly voice. "I would rather not fight you."
"I suppose." Svetlana said, eyeing his hand but declining to touch it.
The two of them walked in silence down a further set of stairs and down a hallway, before entering a large room. In the centre was a large metal basin filled with water.
"Is that for me?" She asked, gesturing at the large metal tub of water.
"It is." Zell answered as the flesh returned to his body. "What little we know about rusalki is based on folklore and myth."
Svetlana pondered for a long moment as they stood in the dimly lit room. What exactly did the Prince mean when he ordered her to go out and teach the mortal races to fear them? For that matter, what exactly what this Praetor?
"You lucky. You have heard of my Prince, yes?" Svetlana asked, turning to face Zell.
"You couldn't possibly mean... The Moonfall Prince? He's real?" Zell asked, forming a slight smile as the skin reformed over the muscles on his face.
"Real. Eternal. Inevitable." Svetlana said, laughing. "The Heir of Spirits. Prince Dorchaidhe. My Prince has ordered me teach the mortal races."
"Teach them what?" Zell asked suspiciously, eyeing Svetlana. He didn't trust her one bit, and he wondered if he could even kill her.
"To fear us. The rus." Svetlana finished, her eyes sparkling with life for a brief moment. "You saw what I capable of in the foyer with just words."
"I have an offer for you, Svetlana." Zell said. "Join the Spiritual Garrison, teach us the truth of your race."
"What do I get in return, dead man?" Svetlana asked. She was not about to give away secrets for free.
"Immunity. Imagine seeing the fear in their eyes, a rusalki in the uniform of the Garrison?" Zell offered, smiling. "Help us with our problems, and live among us."
"My diet is not negotiable, dead man." Svetlana warned him. "I eat mortals. Will that be problem?"
"Centurion Herydark was exiled from the North for cannibalism. You think a bit of manflesh is an issue for the Garrison to provide?" Zell asked in an annoyed tone.
"They must be alive." Svetlana hissed.
"Of course of course. We'll work out the details. For now, do you accept?" Zell said, trying his best to please Svetlana.
"I do." Svetlana said, her unblinking gaze staring at Zell.
"Very well. Welcome to the Garrison, Optio Svetlana." Zell said, saluting.
Svetlana grinned. This would be most amusing for her.