We wandered around for a bit listening in, but we didn’t have context for anything we heard so we didn’t learn much. We hadn’t expected to, really, we were here for the meeting to get a good idea of who our enemies were. It didn’t take long for things to start though, and after a few minutes, someone walked up onto the stage and everyone went quiet.
It was odd, the first thing I heard, even over the muttering before it died down, was footsteps. The clack of heels on hard stone as the person in question ascended the stage.
The person who emerged onto the stage was captivating. Not because of any physical characteristic (they were wearing a heavy concealing robe and a sort of red veil that hid everything about them) but because they seemed to create an almost gravitational pull on everyone’s attention.
Every step, every motion, every sound, it was all somehow shaping the room toward them. All eyelines led to this person, all sounds traced back to them. Paying attention to anything was part of an unbroken line of events that led to staring at the robed figure who took their place atop the stage.
“Family.” They said, in a voice like the whisper of leaves over the icy surface of a midnight grave. “This is what we are. We who are outcast, who are shunned. We disenfranchised and abandoned and disdained.”
I felt…rightness, from the words. My mind conjured images of times I’d been alone or forgotten. Times I’d be abandoned and maligned. I resonated with the idea of being an outsider, and that this person was the same as me, and that made us one. Or I would have, if I hadn’t already been one with someone.
Love flooded the bond. Adoration and affection and a beseeching for the return of the same and I gave it. I wasn’t alone. I was never alone. Not really. And suddenly something snapped and the figure was just a figure. They continued speaking though, and it was easier to pay attention without the mindbending.
“You have come to seek the truth.” They whispered. “To find guidance. You’ve been told for too long that it was your own fault, that you needed to change to fit society, to become part of a greater whole. Is that what you wish?”
As one, the entire audience (barring a few of us like Callie, Zeke, and I) bellowed. “NO!”
The figure nodded. “Of course. Because to do this would be tantamount to self murder. To abandoning your core and forsaking your soul. They pretend society is some monument to perfection, that it always was and always will be. But we know it is not. It is simply the expectations of the mighty few, imposed on their lessers, shaping the world to be as they wish.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I wasn’t wearing my mask. Cult 101, telling the people you’re recruiting they’re special and better than everyone else.
“Power.” The voice whispered. “Such a fickle thing. There is a finite amount of power in this world, and to attain it you must take it from others. That is the truth they hide from you, the truth you know deep in your hearts. Those who rule you have power, and in order to be free you must seize it for yourself.”
The rhetoric was fine, not great but not terrible. I knew how they’d gotten so many onboard though. That weird mental compulsion would have made this sound like gospel if it was still happening to me.
I kind of wanted to argue, to point out that their whole conceptual model was petty and shortsighted. But if I did that it would just be obvious that I was here to spy. To my shock though, one of the gang members did it for me. “That’s all well and good.” Called one man in the back, an intimidating man with green skin and tusks. “But it sounds like you and yours just want to replace one master with another. How do we benefit from your new world order?”
“Because you are the predators.” Reassured the figure. “The laws of nature benefit you most of all. This farce of the ‘civilized’ gods is unnatural. They force those below them to care for the weak to drive back the very beasts that would separate wheat from chaff.”
I blinked. The six did NOT do that. Like…at all. Maybe the Emperor, but the rest of them were mostly a live and let die sort of people in my view. Exactly how brutal were these vanished gods that the WCPs complete apathy seemed SOFT to them?
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The green skinned man laughed. “That’s a lot of fancy words to use saying not much at all. The Wild Call doesn’t work for free, or on maybes. We want assurances, contracts. You’re hiring us to take part in your little coup d'etat. It’s a risk for us no matter how you spin it, and you’re an idiot if you think we’re going to fight your battles for you in exchange for vague promises of advancement.”
Despite not having visible features, it was clear the figure had turned to stare at the man. The rest of the crowd seemed to be stirring, the man had a presence of his own, and it was beating on the air, pushing back the subtle manipulation of the audience with raw warrior charisma.
Turning, I studied him more closely. Long red hair pulled back in a braid, threaded with loops of dark metal. His ears, high and pointed like an elf’s, were pierced with the same material, five small rings along the cartilage of each pointed lobeless appendage. His eyes were citrine, blazing with intensity and power.
“Who.” Whispered the figure, voice somehow rising despite remaining the same pitch. “Are you?” Where before the whisper had been a faint rustle, now it was a storm of whipping leaves, still faint but somehow more insistent.
“Davian Barrow.” Said the man. “And who are you? Because you never gave us a name. No one ever asked. They were too busy being whipped into a frenzy by your poisonous muttering. I’ve sat here and listened for weeks as more and more of us fell sway to your nonsense. I don’t care about the rest, if they’re weak enough to be compromised that’s on them. But I don’t much appreciate you trying to mind control me and my boys to work for free.”
The vibe in the room changed, the rest of the listeners tensing as they started to examine their own thoughts. The figure paused, seeming to be caught off guard, before it spoke in a reassuring murmur. “Family.” It said again. “We are all one. I do not control, I simply share. My passions, my feelings, I communicate as best I know how, if these things sway you is that not what words were coined for to begin with?”
“This ain’t about your mind tricks.” Spat Barrow. “It’s about payment. Make as many vague speeches as you want, but I’m not working unless I get paid. So make an offer or get lost. And don’t think we didn’t notice you avoiding the question about your name.”
The figure drew itself up. “Brute! I am Patience, third chorister of The Catachism of Calamity, speaker of the radiant truth, voice of the undying dream, and bearer of the flame of knowledge! I bring enlightenment to your savage ears, and you seek only to scrabble for petty benefits? I speak to you a tale of freedom! I weave a path to an unbound future! Is that not payment enough?”
“Nice deflection.” Said Barrow, unimpressed. “Fun fact, the power company that lights my apartment doesn’t take tales of freedom, and my favorite butcher stopped accepting paths to an unbound future for a roast last month. I’ll pass on the enlightenment, you can just pay me in chits.”
The rest of his men, a variety of powerfully built warriors of various colors, laughed at that, and the chuckle sent a ripple through the crowd as they nodded along.
I heard a snicker by my ear and turned to see Zeke chuckling. I raised an eyebrow at him and he gestured to the stage. He must have been stealthing us because no one noticed him speaking. “Robey over there is using a form of mental compulsion called incitement. It’s…old. Some of the Bishops in the Cult still use it, but its rare.”
“It’s a Skill?” I said, inferring the only way something like that might work.
He nodded. “Yup. It’s a form of mass hypnosis. It’s absurdly effective on large numbers of mentally weakened subjects, but there’s a downside to everything. Incitement puts people in a suggestible state, but that state is universal. The green meanie hijacked the sermon, and now Robey is trying to course correct.”
“How many people broke out of it?” I asked curiously. “Callie helped me, which means I assume Abel and Mel are fine. Gabe is an adamant and Bethy is Bethy. The only one I’m worried about is Chelsea.”
He just chuckled. “Your sister is more than capable of resisting tricks like this. I suspect a small flare of her purifying flame would cleanse the influence. Even if not, like I said, the Cult uses this particular trick, and the Church warns their people against it. I’m curious how they’re going to turn this one around.”
“You think this will stop their plan?” I asked hopefully. “That he’s put an end to whatever was going to happen?”
Zeke snorted. “Hardly. There aren’t nearly enough people here to represent all the gangs on this continent. This is just the latest crop. Even if greenie turns the whole crowd against the Robe it’s a drop in the bucket. I’m more interested in what they said about who they are. Ever heard of The Catechism of Calamity?”
“Not yet.” I admitted. “I was going to check the book when we got back topside. I haven’t had a chance to study it too deeply. Ascendent books are…dense.”
Because of our increased Perception and Focus, books aimed at high level Ascendents tended to be written in absurdly small text packed very densely together. The book old Arble had given me on the gods was no exception.
Still, this was an interesting outcome. I stepped over to Griff, who was glaring at the big man who was arguing with the robed figure. “Hey Griff, who’s the chatty guy? Like I know his name but where is his territory?”
“Barrow.” He sneered. “He and his little crew run a block or two over in the Fairieland district. Think they’re better than the rest of us because they charge for being thugs. Mercs not a gang. It’s all the same shit, but any reason to turn your nose up, I guess.” He sounded bitter, and I wondered if they’d had any personal conflict before. I got that kind of vibe. Still, if anything that made Griff’s opinion more valid as a source, as long as I took it with a grain of salt.
I nodded slowly. “He any good in a fight?” Mercs could be useful. I was betting we could get mom to shell out for a contract. If we could hire them to snoop around on Patience and company it could be a huge coup for our information reserves. I’d have asked if he honored contracts, but in a world where geasa existed that wasn’t much of an issue.
“He’s ok.” Griff said grudgingly. “He’s an axe Master at E-rank. Not too rare around here, but nothing to sneeze at. I might hire him for a job, as long as he had shutting up in his contract.”
I chuckled along to his lame joke politely, but inside my mind was whirling. I needed to get in touch with Celine and have her reach out. We could contact The Wild Call in our normal identities to prevent these from being compromised, or have Benny and Celine do it themselves. Either way, we had a path forward.