“Isha tells me you were sacrificed once? Dare I ask how that went?”

“It is… a knotted tale. Such is the way of my people.”

“She also told me it was how you received your vision… about us?”

“Again… such is knotted. Must you ruin the mood?”

– Kaen & Niriah

It is said that to truly earn the goddess Qetra’s favour, one must complete an ancient rite that defies the will of mortals. That not even her voice can ignore the decision made by any child of Qetra to undertake a virtuous path. A pilgrimage that involved the cleansing of oneself in a sacred spring that granted clarity of mind and purpose. A chance to receive divine wisdom.

A chance to receive a vision of the future.

Alas, such a rite became little more than a distant memory, for the path to the spring was fraught with many horrors. Not since the Valley of Mothers was overgrown wih the dark side entity known only as The Slithering Dark, its tendrils have long been a sign to avoid, lest they feast upon the foolish.

It became a realm for the condemned. Such was the will of Qetra’s voice, Sheilbh, who secretly offered unwilling sacrifices to The Slithering Dark, behind a veil of redemption. For it is said Sheilbh and her predecessors disguised the unholy act as a path of attonement. That it was a necessary evil designed to purge the weak among them and grant mercy to those who managed to return with evidence they were able to reach the sacred spring.

For it was there that a rare flower bloomed: a lotus believed by many to grant powers few mortals truly understood. Powers only few elders now spoke of with fleeting knowledge among their ignorant, primitive tribes. Powers only the matriarch of Qetra’s chosen bloodline truly understood.

Such was not lost on the granddaughter of the Ziaisi tribe’s chieftain, Niriah, who remembered her grandfather’s alluring tales of its miraculous nature. At least, according to her tribe, it was believed to be a blessing from Qetra. A reminder of her heavenly beauty. A reminder that although she no longer walked among mere mortals, her time among them was unforgettable.

Her growing animosity with Shelibh was what ultimately condemned her to facing the rite herself. Though the matriarch had considered feeding Niriah to the twisted dark sided beast that was once her father, it would have been a quick death compared to a lifetime of suffering to The Slithering Dark.

Some even believed it preferred savouring its victims eternally.

And so Niriah was sent into its vile embrace with naught but her naked flesh to entice its lusts. Yet she did not go there alone for she took with her the one thing that would insure her survival. Defied the will of her so-called betters by stealing one of their holy relics while its true wielder slept, blissfully ignorant that the pet she secretly groomed for several years took advantage of her. Took what few would even attempt, lest they invite peril.

How Niriah managed to smuggle Vivisie’s cherished lightsaber into the wild without anyone knowing is best left to the imagination yet it came in handy when the first signs of The Slithering Dark greeted her with vicious desire. Without it she knew she was lost but now? She had a fighting chance.

Yet part of her wondered, even then, if the sorceress was well aware of her cunning and that she allowed her to steal the blade for whatever ends that justified turning a blind eye. Whatever ends Vivisie had already foreseen.

Sadly, Niriah knew the truth. Even now she remained her thrall.

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Art / Niriah / Descendant - © Kris Paul Love