Hellen’s music store was located along H5’s main strip. Vocalis was the name of its major city, and the nearby settlements were named similarly after instruments. This city was, to Frost’s shock, named after Hellen the Vocalist by the late Green Composer.
It was no wonder that people immediately recognized her. Hellen was far more famous than she could have ever imagined.
“Fame can only take you so far. No one knew who Hellen was except for that annoying woman. You know, the one with that fire guy?” Cer said as they followed the main strip, immersing themselves in a sea of crowds, music and color.
They rode Snap again and followed the center lane where animal-drawn carriages and wagons drove. It wove and overtook them, but ensured it never accelerated to more than a horse’s humble gallop. Too fast and it was considered public endangerment, which was rich considering that the railways straight through settlements without any barricades to keep people off the tracks.
Although, the counterargument to this was common sense. If people couldn’t stay away from the obviously marked tracks, then nothing could help them. Still, accidents involving the trains were not terribly uncommon.
It was normal to see a train’s head painted red, or bits of entrails dangling along like ribbons. The rate was about once a week, which was surprisingly low in Frost’s mind all things considered.
But death was guaranteed in the City of Spades, where the trains were painted red solely for daily kills. Whether it was red paint, or a buildup of blood was unknown. Unsurprisingly, the trains were a popular method for murder in those lawless Sectors.
Cer then added: “Infamy works better if you’re trying to throw your name out there. It’s what the Syndicates do to spread their reign of terror – oh, sorry, I mean influence.”
“Syndicates? Never heard of them. Are they like the Impuritas or a criminal organization?” Frost asked away.
Res ended up answering.
“The latter. And don’t listen to Cer. Syndicates are just unauthorized organizations. They usually dabble in crooked work or downright heinous stuff, but not all of them are bad.”
“What makes them unauthorized?” Jury wondered.
“The Guild.” Ber said, cracking her knuckles. “You thought all it did was manage people? Because it does! It just does it better than anyone else.”
Ateliers were not the only kinds of organizations to exist. While they were the most powerful and influential, they could not cover every crack and crevice in Elysia. Moreover, the Ateliers cared little outside of their gains.
Thus, there existed organizations that sought to fill in the gaps. In truth, organizations were mostly like upscaled parties. What separated them from Syndicates was that they were registered with the Guilds, whilst Syndicates were not.
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The hierarchy began at the individual level and moved up to small parties. Larger parties could then be called a ‘Team’ or ‘Group’. The next stage was an Office, Agency, Company, Bureau, or Firm. Subsidiaries and branches could then spawn from them to further expand their reach.
Above them were the Associations, religious Sects, and Atelier subsidiaries. They were essentially guilds in their own right, but they were highly organized and operated under strict guidelines offered by the Guilds of the Golden Index.
Syndicates followed a similar hierarchy, but of course, they did not follow these guidelines and dabbled in murders, assassination, kidnappings, etcetera.
“Amazing. It’s as if the Ateliers don’t do that to begin with.” Nav said with overt sarcasm.
Tell me about it. The Ateliers make them sound like angels in comparison.
Certain tasks were rerouted to nearby offices or associations before they landed on the Guild board. It was also through these associated where mundane tasks were funneled straight to the Guilds. Their existence allowed particularly wealthy or influential clients to seek aid. They also protected the lands they established themselves on, as per the requirement from the Golden Index.
Syndicates usually operated in the backwaters of settlements, mostly from slums, ravaged lands, and war-torn locations. That being said – Both Syndicates and Associations had their own fair share of bad apples, and more often than not, their personnel were used in proxy wars by other nations.
“Adventurers hold a lot of power, huh…” This was the conclusion Frost arrived at. “Nations rely on them a lot.”
“A piece of gold isn’t gonna sway a murderous meathead. Associations will take coins. Syndicates will take lives. Kind of like the Ateliers and the Impuritas with death, Nex and all that fun misery.” Cer shrugged, speaking like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Did Ateliers once start off as offices? Small teams?” Frost wondered.
“Caldera Industries wasn’t built in a day.” Cer explained. “They occupy the entire Dwarhelven Region nowadays. History says they started off in the Caldera Region as a mining group. Caldera in homage to their homeland. They grew, a tall Dwarf got a technology, and BAM, they became a full-fledged Atelier. So don’t go expecting Jury to build one as soon as we return to the Nexus.”
“What’s sad is that a lot of Demi-humans, Half-breeds and humans find themselves in Syndicates out of necessity. Strong ones do. The weak are just prey.”
“… Not always…” Res defended. “Raoul used to lead one. Back when he cared… Oh, and Ara. You’re taking this to your grave. Leak this and we’ll erase you.”
“N-No problem. I’m not like one of those snitch singers!” Ara proclaimed as they finally passed by the same store Frost had mistaken for Hellen’s. “Is it really ok to be saying this out loud to begin with?”
“No one else besides you can hear me.” Res said.
“Have you become lax, Sis?” Ber poked Res’ cheek.
“So what if I did!?” She snapped.
Frost could no longer hear the triplets argue. She was too preoccupied with the happenings at the store.
It was mysteriously sealed off with red strings. The entire front was damaged as if a storm had swept through, but the nearby stores were completely untouched. Talk of a murder arose in the large crowd that gathered just outside its doors.
Sacks of bodies were dragged out, and she was shocked to see the face of the store clerk she had spoken to not even a week prior. It was a disheveled corpse drained of all fluids and appeared like an unwrapped mummy.
It was as if something had sucked the life out of it. No. Not only that, but it was also missing its face, like something had neatly peeled it off.
Then, amidst the murmurs of a murder, of a suicide, of a monster and of the clerk being a rude fellow – She heard someone utter something.
“We were just there… He wouldn’t stop repeating the same thing over and over. Hey… Um. Call me crazy but, um –
– Do you think it was Mimicry?”