Not a Dwarven Ore-Baron
Ruchi Vael'kyn
The slender dark elf priestess raised her gaze to the groggy faern and closely observed her slurping some of her tea. Did Ruchi sense some irritation? Where had her studies led her? Oh fuck, she's definitely pissed. Ruchi pondered which of her many careless actions might have been the root cause of the irritation, but there were too many to count. Then, she realized, she had only today offered her best tea. I'm a priestess, not a dwarven ore-baron, silly. Ruchi let her thoughts sink in, then lifted her cup and started sipping. She felt her spirit lift and expand. I don't care about governing like most drow; I care only about my message. "Oh fuck, that's good." Ruchi let out a whisper. "Would prayers have made a difference?" Zynrae focused on her with burning, violet eyes as she asked her the central question. She must have hit some type of wall, a boundary that rendered her spells useless. The shadows almost destroyed her. The priestess pondered on this. "From my priestess' perspective: I cannot show you what to see, only how to see." It was a whisper, but she began to carefully let her words flow, as if speaking to herself. "What to see is a clerical dogma. How to see, that it is transformation." "How you see, is what you see." And with that, Ruchi lifted her cup ceremoniously and drained the steaming-hot liquid fully.
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