33. Expectations

Greatness in the Telisium did not come to those who sat idly by, or so they said. The truth was that it came mostly to those fortunate enough to be graced by it. Juno Malmkvist was one of the Hundred Brides, a position nearly every woman in the Telisium dreamed of, and Alessandro Malmkvist had inherited the prestigious title of Lord Captain from their father. But Iris, the youngest child of the three, had gained nothing. She was expected to go nowhere in life. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, she excelled in her studies, and prayed to the Prince with a zeal that was rarely seen even in the highest orders of the faith. In due time her diligence was rewarded, and she was inducted into training with the Right Hand, the military arm of the Prince's church.

By the age of 15, Iris had been formally inducted as an Inquisitor, a position nearly unheard of for someone her age. Surprise and the occasional mention in the noble courts would turn to awe and discussion everywhere when, at the age of only 19, she became High Inquisitor. Her work in fighting the forces of Nergal was perfect, the utmost purity and holiness that was expected of a High Inquisitor. Her orders were swift, reliable, and efficient. But ultimately, their reliability would prove her downfall.

Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, she had been taken prisoner by the heretics. She knew what they would do, and her teachings had proven correct. Things most vile indeed, corruptions of the flesh and the mind, the darkest of magics she had spent her life protecting the people from. But her soul stayed pure. Even now, as she sat caged, she continued to block out all pain and suffering, focusing fervently on the holy light of the Prince. It would guide her, she knew, and it carried her through the darkest of times.

When the time came that the heretics brought her before a Nergalite Spire, she knew her death was at hand. She accepted this, and asked the Prince only to forgive her, that she had been unable to serve him further in life. The pain was great, and would have been unbearable without the Prince to guide her. 22 times, that most profane of numbers, was the mark of Nergal carved into her flesh, and both her right arm and eye were burned away in a hideous sacrifice to the Betrayer. She accepted her death, and closed her eyes in preparedness to meet with the Prince.

What she had not expected, however, was to awaken atop a surgical table, bathed in clinical blue light, with Master Technologists standing over her.