It was the same routine, day in and day out, but Katja didn’t mind. She was rather content with the life that she and Galin had concocted for themselves in Adeluna. Once they had the coin built up, it hadn’t taken her much to talk Galin into buying the once-dilpidated tavern - with the full intent that she would focus on the day-to-day operations, of course. It kept her occupied while Galin was off, aiding in the training of the Queen’s company of guards, and she rather enjoyed it.
Although she was generally happy to see her husband when he returned home, she found it rather annoying when he couldn’t carry out as simple a task as bring home the correct onions from the market - something he clearly didn’t see as big of an issue as she did. Thus, she found herself marching up the stairs to their home above the tavern behind Galin, the pair having a rather loud ‘conversation.’ ”You’d know better than to sleep with the serving girls, because you know I wouldn’t hesitate to stick my dagger in your manhood were you to get caught,” she said smirking slightly. ”But onions, Galin, onions! Yellow, green, red… all those injuries you sustained over the years in battle… knew they left you scarred, didn’t know they’d left you colorblind,” she said, rolling her eyes as she walked behind him.
She paused on the stairs behind him as he shifted the conversation to the fact that, as of late, she had been pressing the matter of children with him. She resumed walking and passed through the doorway behind him. ”I’m not getting any younger, and the older I get, the more chance there is that in gaining a child, you’ll lose your wife,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ”Take your time, but don’t take too long,” she added, moving to get herself a bit of wine after Galin had finished.
The cup of wine she had poured halfway to her lips, Katja froze as she heard the muffled movement just as Galin had, and followed his lead, crouching to one side. She pushed her skirts to the side enough to reveal the top of her boots, where she withdrew a small dagger that she held concealed. Straightening back up, she stood just out of view of the door as Galin swung it open, within moments his dagger pressed against the throat of the person on the other side.
At the threshold of the door stood a very beautiful woman, perhaps a bit taller than Katja but not by much. Her hair was dark, long, and wavy, and her eyes nearly as dark as her hair. She was dressed in all black, and her skin was pale, yet somehow luminous. She glanced sideways to Galin, but she did not retreat - nor did she move in any sort of manner that would indicate offense. The only movement she made was to slowly raise her hands, showing to Galin that she held no sort of weapon.
When Katja was sure that the stranger was not able to attack she stepped back into view - to which the stranger took one look at her and sharply inhaled. ”By Inferos, you look just like her,” breathed the stranger, sounding absolutely astonished.
Katja narrowed her eyes and looked to Galin before looking back at the dark haired woman in the doorway. ”Who? Who do I look like?” she asked, sounding rather confused. “And who the bloody hell are you?”] she asked, sounding annoyed and confused all at once, though her expression gave way to confusion more than anything.
The woman in the doorway blinked once. ”My name is Jazrael,” she said. ”And I’d be happy to tell you more, if he can remove the blade from my throat,” she added.
Katja looked at Galin, and it seemed as though she were torn. Galin, on the other hand, lowered the blade, though it seemed he was remaining at the ready, positioned to strike at a moment’s notice if the situation deemed it necessary. ”So talk,” said Katja.
”A bit of backstory is in order, I suppose,” said Jazrael, leaning against the doorway. “I come from Inferos,” she said, her eyes flashing abysmal black for a brief moment as though to to prove to them that she was, in fact, a demon. “I was one of Lady Dalanesca’s messorem, may she rest in peace,” she continued, bowing her head slightly at the mention of one of Revaliir’s fallen. Though she did not practice worship of Revaliir’s pantheon, Katja was familiar with the history of its deities. “When she fell, of course, a new ruler of Inferos was chosen - but there are some, there are a few of us who see this new ruler as a false idol,” she continued. “She had no right to the power that was given to her,” she concluded.
Katja shook her head slightly. “Not following,” she said, retrieving the cup of wine she had set on the table and took a slow drink. “Why does a fallen god warrant a visit to our tavern? What does it have to do with Galin and I?” she asked Jazrael, who looked mildly amused.
“Oh, it’s nothing to do with your precious husband, Katja, it’s everything to do with you,” she said. Katja immediately took two steps towards the woman, brandishing her dagger towards her rather threateningly, the cup of wine still clutched in her other hand.
“How do you know my name?” asked Katja, her voice having taken on a rough, threatening tone.
“You even sound like she did, when she would be angry with me,” said Jazrael, a reminiscent laugh accompanying her words. Katja eyed her suspiciously, not connecting the dots. “Don’t you ever wonder why you can’t remember growing up? Why you can’t remember anything before those farmers found you, Katja?” Jazrael went on, asking Katja questions that she was not answering. “Do you ever have strange dreams that you can’t explain, dreams that don’t make sense?” she asked her.
Katja didn’t answer her, but stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Get to the point,” she hissed, the dagger still pointed at her.
“You hold so much more power than you are aware of, so much potential - I can nearly taste the magic resonating off of you,” Jazrael said in a pointed manner. Katja let out a sharp laugh.
“I couldn’t cast a spell if my life depended on it,” Katja said. “You’ve clearly gotten your lines crossed somewhere,” she added, to which Jazrael shook her head.
“There are those of us who believe that you should be ruling Inferos, Katja,” said Jazrael.
“I’m sorry… what?” asked Katja, disbelief audible in her voice.
“There are those of us who think you should be following in Dalanesca’s footsteps. There are those of us who wish to see Serafina ripped from her throne. There are those of us who would see you follow in your mother’s footsteps,” Jazrael said, glancing at Galin before looking back to Katja. When it was clear that Jazrael’s words hadn’t hit home with Katja, she reiterated what she had said in a different fashion. “Your mother, Katja. Dalanesca was your mother.”
The shattering sound of Katja’s wine cup hitting the floor rang out against the silence that had fallen over the room. It seemed that Jazrael had expected such a thing, as she looked away from Katja who was staring at Jazrael as though frozen in stone. Jazrael turned to Galin. “I will leave the two of you, for now. I will be back to speak with her again, when she has had time to… process this,” she added, and before anyone could say another word Jazrael had disappeared.
Katja stood frozen in place for a moment, before finally drawing in a sharp breath. ”No,” she said, quietly, before repeating it more loudly several times. She bent down and tucked her dagger back into its hiding place, and stood back up. “Nope,” she said, one more time, before pushing her way through the open doorway, her boots thudding as she hurried down the stairs.
More shouting could be heard moments later as Katja had made her way back behind the bar, shouting at two of the serving girls to get out of her way. She found one of the bottles of whiskey made in the Highlands that she and Galin kept behind the bar for special guests, and uncorked it, taking a large drink straight from the bottle, repeating that motion several times. A few minutes later the tavern door swung open, a group of those training in the Queen’s company of guards having entered the tavern.