With that, he left, and so did the rest of the crowd, doubtlessly to change out of those ridiculous robes. He exited by a door behind the chimera, while the others filed out of doors to the sides. In the meanwhile, Krahe made her way to the common area upstairs. The Society was legally an agency, but the contract board was minimal and in the corner, and the main public room couldn’t be more of a bougie coffeehouse if it tried. The bar, manned by a gynoid automaton with the sigil of the Society on its face, seemed to also serve as the place for taking out and handing in contracts. One-third of the common room’s considerable floor space, all the way on the other side from the bar, was dedicated to large tables with elaborate dioramas laid out in the center, shelves and shelves of books and boxes. Idols, statuettes, and miniatures of various sizes completely took up a wall of displays.
Various members started filing in after a few minutes, Despite the tentatively friendly atmosphere, Krahe felt bile rise in her throat every time one of the other members accosted her about her use of anathemism, or, god forbid, Wandrei Faust. Sorayah was nowhere to be found.
Despite all her misgivings, it couldn’t be denied that the Society’s facilities were very, very nice. It was no surprise why it would be a desirable gathering place. The library, too, held an impressive collection, though she hadn’t explored the Temple of Records thoroughly-enough to discern how the Society’s library compared to the restricted sections. There were certainly some books and scrolls that seemed like they belonged in the higher-numbered sections. It was located on an upper floor, up a spiraling, narrow staircase, and the librarian made it abundantly clear that she was not allowed to take most of the books out of the building, and some not even out of the library. That was perfectly reasonable.
While she was browsing, a member found her. He looked young, wearing what was best described as a lower-level version of Casus’s getup - foppish satin shirt, tight trousers, knee-high boots, a meticulous, oiled short hairstyle. It felt fake. He didn’t give off the utter confidence such a getup dictated. Krahe had met many like him, young idiots who wanted to look just like their favourite mercenary-celeb and got themselves killed. He had to be in his twenties at the latest, but the lack of age wasn’t the sign; Casus didn’t give off this same aura of innocent youth, and even Krahe herself was physically back in her twenties. No, it was the look in his eyes and the way he spoke. He introduced himself as Reuben. Krahe just let him rattle on and on about theurgy, only half-mindedly paying attention to what he said as she idly paged through one book after the next, including his theories of how he thought the Wandrei Faust worked, until he asked a question:
“And- and- and- how’d you come by a Chthonian Eel? Please don’t say a normal spirit-calling ritual. Don’t say you were just lucky. Catching a Deep Eidolon is something like a one in five thousand chance.”
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“I can’t tell you how I did it,” she smiled. “There are methods other than spirit-calling rites.”
Disappointed, the young man sighed: “Alright, how about the theurgy at least? I know we’re not supposed to ask unless invited, but…”
“Have you read Secrets of the Atropal?”
“That sensationalist dreck?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
Krahe closed the book in her hand, and stared straight at him.
“See, that’s how I know you haven’t even read more than a few pages- The sensationalist dreck ends after the foreword. I’m not trying to fool you; reading Secrets of the Atropal is what helped me get a grip on the fundamentals of theurgy. From there… Look into Godbrush. If you can’t find it, try Manual of Talismen. The edition I read was from 4599.”
“I understand the Talisman Mistress is bringing them back into fashion, but I don’t see what would make them better than thaumshot.”
Sighing, she summoned a lemon Wandrei Faust talisman into her hand and held it up in his face. A look of taken-aback terror briefly took hold of his face before she could explain.
“Don’t worry, this one doesn’t work. It’s one of my first attempts at Wandrei Faust. It still looks near-perfect, right? But it’s a lemon. Now think, what’s harder? Just drawing and writing, or carving all these instructions inside a little ball of thaumstone? You don’t even get the safety net of just tossing a fuckup into eraser solution so you can try again with the same paper, and one single fifteen-millimeter ball of thaumshot stock costs as much as fifty of these papers. Understand the appeal? The guilds so readily switched to thaumshot not just because of their real advantages, but also because the raised barrier to entry makes it that much less likely that the beginner occultist will be able to make his own instead of just buying from them.”
That last part wasn’t even anything she had read or heard of, Krahe had just deduced that it had to be the case based on her own experience working with talisman paper. She quickly put it away, and summoned one of the dregshot Reapers that Garvesh had given her.
“...And look here. The outer layer with all the complex patterns isn’t dregstone. It’s the same thing as just wrapping a dregshot bullet in a talisman.”
“I… I see. Thank you for the pointers. And ah… Look out for Sorayah. She has a grudge against anathemists; her brother was one, and met a grisly fate due to it.”
“Is that so? To what degree? What is the most severe manner in which she came after someone?”
“Well, uh, there was once a new member, not an anathemist. The story goes he threatened Sorayah’s position, and then out of nowhere, he showed up anathema-charred head to toe and threw a huge tantrum right in the common room, then died. Rumor has it…”
“...She irradiated and somehow had him kill himself, figures. Interesting. Perhaps the true reason she hates anathemists is their resistance to such tactics. A late-stage anathemist can shrug off a dosage that would kill a normal person, after all, so whatever she did to that guy wouldn’t work on one.”