Recruitment
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'll kill you quickly."
"Well that makes things simpler. Let's start by introducing ourselves, hmmm?" The Praetor asked.
"Do you introduce yourself to your cattle before you kill them?" The rusalki spat back at him.
The Praetor paused. She had 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?
"So you're 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 are 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 are dead. For centuries." 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.
"I'm here of my own volition, dead man." Svetlana said threateningly, as the soldiers in the foyer began shouting and hurling magic at her. "Tell them to stop, or it gets worse."