Dinner took them to a lavish, private restaurant close to the Arenas. In the tiled, colorful bathroom Xala contacted Vulcan across their necrotic connection. He stood in one of the stalls, pupils drained and scleras blackened as he made contact and saw through the eyes of his thrall.
Vulcan, hear me. I have a new task for you. Please, find the one named Aldoron. He is a prophet-preacher. An elderly man. Ask him to meet with me. I wish to become closer to the cults of this city.
Through Vulcan’s eyes and senses, he heard the response as he spoke aloud, seemingly to himself as he walked through the streets of Fae Town’s darkest alleys, “Cults? You sure, boss? Those are not friendly people, even by your standards.”
Aldoron will serve me well. He owes me a debt. A grand favor. I wish to collect.
“Aye, I’ll look around. I’ve started that list,” he held up a slip of paper in his hand with shoddy handwriting. “Any of these names stick out to ya?”
Halifax Durnstrum. Who is he?
“Disgraced big shot gangbanger for the Feathers. I worked with him a few times, a real piece of work. He’s got a lot of connections, but Feathers cut ties with him a long way back.”
Excellent. Well done. Perhaps his wealth can go into your pockets?
“Hah, nice try. I’d prefer someone with deeper pockets.”
Your greed truly amuses me.
“Hey, deal’s a deal.”
Ah, very well. I suppose it has been a long time since I consumed a merchantman. Usually, they offer me nothing intellectually. But, so be it.
“That’s the spirit, boss,” he chuckled and continued on with his night.
The blackness of Xala’s scleras slithered away back into the recesses of his mind. He took a deep breath as he stepped out of the stall, washed his hands under a crystal faucet to rid himself of whatever germs were on the door handle, and went back outside.
Color flourished out before him throughout the restaurant as if it flowed into, or perhaps out of, the bathroom he stepped from. Every table was made of carved, chiseled marble. Every chair had seats of mahogany and legs of stone. The floor was cut from one massive slab that stretched across the entire space, while small arch windows lined the boundaries of the candlelit restaurant. The ceiling, obscured by shadow, was a gigantic mosaic of rolling hills, outstretched peaks, gods who danced with satyrs, shadows who feared the light, all centered and swirling toward a central golden hemisphere that jutted out from the most central point in the piece and emitted its own gentle, passive light. From its base in the ceiling, roots of dim light stretched out like threads of fate toward each and every creature depicted in the mosaic.
Meanwhile, Xala was the only one who gazed up in awe everytime he passed under it. The people of the establishment were regulars, or people invited by powerful people with the intention to impress their hosts. Xala had no such reservations. His mesmerized eyes betrayed no emotions of inspiration.
Afterall, it was an establishment for mages in the heart of Dimside. A place few dared to tread, but where money was moved. The dynamic of its location sent many triggers off in Xala’s mind. Is this how all of Feltkan was run? He had imagined it before, a secret cabal of powerful mages who persecuted others to maintain their grip on power over nulls, but was this what it was for? A fancy restaurant and elegant aesthetics on the surface as it was underground? Did the mages who ruled Feltkan from the shadows truly stoop to such astronomical lows for the sake of such cheap highs?
The Emperor did. The Emperor was known for extravagance in the face of hardship. It was simply the way his kin operated, those who could look down from golden perches.
Xala went back to his table with the others and reclaimed his place next to Colhern. He offered a soft look, checking to see if Xala was still sick. His bathroom trip was a ruse made before the server got a chance to show themselves. “Gotcha some water and some crackers, just in case.”
“Thank you,” he squeezed Colhern’s leg, made him blush, and lent his attention toward Wakatya’s and Brook’s conversation.
“Check the news, the cults are getting more active than ever! I’m shocked you haven’t been contacted already, Brook. I’ve gotten three invitations already.”
“Because I’m just a glorified gardener, Katya. This is just another wave because nothing’s happened in a while.”
“No, I’ve done some research on those bodies that showed up on the shore. They weren’t just raised with necromancy. The police reports are being too ominous. They know something else about them. If they were Scarabea-made, they would have said so, to win some points against the Vehem strongholds. This was a massive group of undead that showed up right near a shipping yard. Someone or something else made them. The authorities are terrified.”
“It’s only been a day! How do you expect them to figure it out quickly enough? At any minute a new update could come out. I can imagine how the cults are spinning it out of control, but you too?”
“You always have to read between the lines, man. The cults usually make all kinds of stuff up, but even the gangs are taking it seriously. You haven’t noticed Feathers patrolling your area more? I saw two guys I’ve never seen before just on the way picking you up!”
“It’s a growing neighborhood, they’re adding more people there all the time.”
“Ugh, open your eyes man!”
Xala leaned forward and asked, “Can you explain to me who the Feathers are?”
“Huh?” It caught her off guard, but Wakatya stabilized, fanned her face, and took a deep breath as she said, “They’re our enforcers down here. The mage haters above ground left us to run things ourselves, and come down here to track down big time criminals when they feel like it. Otherwise, the Feathered Serpents,” she made air quotes, “Keep us safe.”
“What about other gangs?”
Brook, still disgruntled by their spat, answered that one, “There’s the Grave Snatchers, a bunch of mages who practice dark magic, but don’t be fooled by their name, not even they practice necromancy. They control Northern Fae Town. There’s a ton of gangs all over the city that control their own territories, but they all work for either of those two. The Snatchers and Feathers have turf wars every now and then, but otherwise leave each other alone.”
Lilith held up her finger, “And then you’ve got the secretive guilds people don’t like talking about,” she poked Brook’s shoulder, “Or don’t believe in. Like the Blood Worms.” She pulled up her lips and chomped her teeth, “Vampire assassins!” She giggled and took a sip from her wine. “Then you’ve got your standard guilds, like the alchemists, blacksmiths or engineers, imbuers, and then different guilds for all the different specializations of magic. Those guys have the coolest fights.”
“Like cryomancers and pyromancers?” Xala asked, remembering the duel he saw when he first came to Fae Town.
“Yeah! The Cryos and Pryos are probably the most annoying, because they just can’t stop showing off. They talk big game, but the second an Electromancer shows up? Hah! They run for the hills.”
Wakatya clarified, “The guilds don’t usually fight in the streets. They have sway over their communities because they’re made of the people they represent, but they mostly just serve as places to grow your skills and learn from willing teachers. Anytime the guilds fight is because individual members have offended each other. The Feathers, who are mostly made of dims who can create or nulls who can use imbued weapons and armor, go around and break up fights. Otherwise, they charge businesses and buildings a fee for protection. Refuse to pay up, and you’re out.”
Xala nodded along, narrowed his eyes, and looked at Wakatya. He figured she would be the best to answer this question, “What caused the segregation on the surface between nulls and mages in Feltkan?”
The table went a bit quiet as Wakatya chewed on her maulers. She took a deep breath and said, “People argue about that all the time. Feltkan was one of the places hit hardest by the Moors during Lilith’s rebellion. The Dayrifts were created by their weaponry from the Flesh Armadas. Their forces took a special interest in the slaughter and raping of the null population. Feltkan, before then, was allowed to operate on its own under its Lich Lord, who did not care what the population did with each other. Mages and nulls lived together long before the Moors took over, loved each other, and so when the Moors attacked the nulls it was an indirect attack on the mages who loved them.
“After that, the people of Feltkan, though traumatized, regrouped and tried to rebuild when the Moors were defeated. Over the centuries, people were coming back together. People were healing. Sure, there were clashes between nulls and mages over time, but they didn’t affect the city all that much. Then, the Imperial Collapse. Fear of magic exploded all over the world. I’ve read letters from mages who killed themselves and burned their research, for fear of recreating what happened to Okra. The Drakul refugees, mostly nulls themselves, were hurt and had lost everything. They spread even more fear of mages. Political movements rose up, all sorts of parties who preached regulations on magic, more radical ones preached segregation, but were usually laughed at.
“The Magic Restriction Act of the Seventeenth Year of the Fourth Era was passed, which made a sweeping surveillance over the city’s magical infrastructure, research, and population. All research facilities, universities, and teachers of magic required licenses approved by the government to teach magic. People who wanted to go into politics and get government positions needed licenses to practice magic. Their spells were tracked by special rings and bracelets. And, get this, that act was proposed by mages. It was voluntary! So, as mages in Feltkan became less powerful, overall, people feared them less. But, cults who preached the endtimes sprang up all over the world directly because of the Collapse. Feltkan was worried that those cults would infiltrate their people, and so immigration to the city became extremely regulated. Even tourism was shut off, which killed tons of businesses, while political movements used the loss of trade and growing evil in the world to argue for more regulations.
“But, mages were still, by themselves as individuals, more powerful than nulls. Those movements, who preached segregation and even more regulations, were largely annihilated. Then, the invention of industrialization. Feltkan became the largest producer of magical weapons in the world. We always were, but old-school Imbuements required attunement. Something only people with magic, perhaps only trace amounts, can utilize. In Three-Hundred-Twenty-Six, nulls wielded magical weapons. It took two years for the segregationists to get hold of these weapons and strike terror into mages everywhere. Twenty years later, the segregationists had enough sway to get what they wanted and elected Qua’Anna into power. She had been stirring the fears and underlying hatred of nulls for decades before she got into office and once she became a Philosopher King, she used her influence to get the other Kings to bow to her and elect her as the first Leader of the High Council. It took one year for her to enact the Protection For Nulls Act. Mages immediately received higher sentences for petty and large crimes, landowners needed to file for higher taxes if they allowed mages into their homes, existing tenants were priced out, and mages were sent into the streets.
“Fae Town opened its doors to mages. People were already living there, the poorest of the city who had nowhere else to go on the surface, and mages flowed in by the tens of thousands. Ever since, we’ve lived here and Qua’Anna is still in power. Imagine that,” her lips ticked up in a lopsided, sarcastic smirk, “The same person who pushed us down here, an Amquel human, who has lived for nearly two-hundred years. How do you think she manages that?”
“With magic.” Xala answered plainly.
“Yup. Tell her supporters that and they’ll call you insane, perhaps even arrest you for sedition. After all, she’s only fifty years past her people’s usual due date. She’s probably chosen by the gods to live longer, if you ask the Church on the surface.”
“She took control over the religion of this city?”
“In all but law. Faith, control, and raw manpower keep her in office. It doesn't hurt that she’s a great orator. If you saw her speeches, and didn’t really have an opinion on mages and their individual sovereignty, you’d probably be swayed her way.”
Xala mauled over all of it. He was lucky to have found an anthropologist in Colhern’s friend group. His finger grazed back and forth over his lips as he held up his chin. “Are there many people trying to reverse this status quo?”
“What? Bring it back to before the Imperial Collapse? Hah. This city’s full of humans. There aren’t enough people old enough to remember how nice it was back then. They can’t relate. This is what the humans of this city know, and so, why change it? It’s only natural, if we look at our own lifespans, that this is how it has to be.”
“What? The elves and other long-living species of this city don’t have sway?”
“Barely. All the Philosopher Kings are human. Another thing that you can thank Qua’Anna for. Something the human population of an otherwise cosmopolitan city really likes.” Her words were full of spite and bitterness, especially as she glanced toward Brook. Her apologetic eyes for their argument was well-received. “But, I’m curious, why are you asking?”
“It needs to change.” He said simply. “The whole structure of it all needs to be completely revolutionized.”
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The table’s breath was sucked away. Even Colhern gave Xala a worried look.
Wakatya bit the inside of her cheek, sighed, and said, “I agree. But, it’s not possible. Not without mass casualties.”
“You’re telling me that your Fae Town has a Blood Worm guild, vampire assassins, and cannot kill that woman?”
“Oh, they’ve tried. But, have you ever tried to kill an Amquel when everywhere she goes has gold in the walls? On the floors? In the machinery?” She held up her Lectern and waved it around. “There’ve been a lot of attempts, and every time, it just gets worse.”
Xala now held both hands in front of his face as he hid his lips behind them in deep contemplation. He could visualize the entirety of Feltkan before him. On his deep dive the prior night, he found many maps of Feltkan and Fae Town. He could see it now. The mages of the underground ripping through the earth and coming up to wage war against the surface. The towers who scraped the skies would be besieged by wind, fire, and lightning. Parks and trees along streets would become soldiers and battlegrounds of their own.
However, if Wakatya was right, and they were simply outmanned and outarmed, then there needed to be another layer to this war. A layer of sabotage and corruption. Something he was very well versed in.
“Thank you, you’ve helped me see the big picture, now.” He smiled, something that rarely reached his eyes, and certainly did not now. He was too preoccupied within his own mind. “It also doesn’t help, I imagine, that the people who are advocating for mages to go back to the surface are the madmen-lined cults beneath Fae Town?”
Lilith scoffed, “You thought that guy from this morning was bad? If anything, he’s the most tame cultist I’ve ever seen.”
“But, they are the biggest religion down here.” Wakatya added, “Down here, where all the rejects of the surface live, there are as many faiths as there are buildings. The cult is the largest faith because they don’t stop anyone from believing in whatever gods they want, and preach for a better world, even if their methods are inefficient. They let anyone in, welcomed them with open arms, and built up their faith that way ever since before the Collapse. The only difference is that all their temples and churches are further underground. They don’t really care about owning or dominating anything up here, and just host food drives and events out in the open streets. They’re harmless, welcoming, usually preach love alongside their messianic beliefs, and so people flock to them.”
“They preach for mages to return to the surface, believe in a messiah who will take them there, and yet the majority of Fae Town does not bother with movements that work toward a return to the surface? Where is the initiative, the movement of bodies and ideas,” Xala held his hands up, clearly confused. “How come a faith has such sway and nobody goes to the extremes of it? It cannot exclusively be a lack of manpower.”
“People have rebelled a few times, and the responses were always extremely brutal. So, people took to silence or nihilism. They appreciate the community the faith offers, and beyond that, they’re content. Otherwise, a lot of people are just agnostic, or worship on their own. People may believe in pro-mage ideas, but they cannot act on them. Think about it, when you were a kid and you wanted something, but clearly could not have it, and never got it, did you keep wanting it, or did you give up entirely? That’s how I look at the situation.”
Xala remained quiet this time. When he was a boy and the Master refused him food, he would struggle and fight in vain. Eventually, he learned to love hunger. His mind was forced to accept his bondage. It was only when he met Lord Morl that he discovered the idea of liberation for its own sake.
The thought of that man made Xala’s stomach drop a bit, especially as he sat next to Colhern, but Morl truly gave something during that first meeting Xala had never known. Hope.
A gentle touch reached Xala’s forearm as Colhern leaned over and said, “It bothers you a lot, doesn’t it?”
Xala glanced over, pursed his lips, and nodded.
“Well, it’s not all bad. I know I’m a null, but it’s nice not being around anti-mages. I mean, you can live however you want to live in the Southside. Think about it, even if mages were allowed on the surface, violence would break out all the time. My sisters work up there, hide their magic completely, and still face discrimination. It sucks up there.”
Xala stared at Colhern. His words were spoken out of emotion over logic, “I want to stand on the tallest building with you, closest to the moon, and show you the secret magicks of this world. The most glamorous, the most flamboyant, the most rebellious kind.” He leaned toward Colhern, looked at him from underneath his eyelashes, and said, “And I intend to do that in a place where I do not need to fear being seen.”
Colhern swallowed hard. His lips curled upward, tried to regain himself in front of his awestruck friends, and said, “I, uhm, I’d like that.”
Xala nodded. “Good.” He sat up, turned toward the others, saw their expressions, and smiled softly. “I’m not a patient person. I want to investigate anything and anyone who wants to get rid of your High Council’s edicts. I want to see their progress and the extent of their silent, ineffective, meager movement. Can you help me?”
“You want to join the movement, don’t you?” Lilith asked with wide eyes.
“Not exactly. If they are ineffective, and worthless, then I would rather simply leave this place. Journey somewhere else. To another part of the world.” He glanced toward Colhern. “I would have already if I had not found a reason to stay.” He looked back to the others. “But, in leaving, I would make myself guilty of inaction.” Words held power. More power than any weapon or spell. Xala’s ancestors knew that well. Their power over the spoken word was legendary long before anyone knew they had legions of undead at their fingertips. Words inspired the minds of mortals to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. Words were the structure and scaffolding of ideas and ideology. Language was the most exploitative method of control on the planet. In the universe. Xala learned to wield them well. “I’ve only been here for a day and a half, but I have already found purpose here. I was forced to leave my homeland for my rebellious nature. I will likely have to flee this one for the same reason, at some point or another. So, I might as well start as soon as possible.”
The table was silent. Brook seemed uneasy, perhaps a bit afraid. Wakatya’s eyes averted elsewhere, anywhere, as she clearly contemplated the sentiment but had hesitations. Colhern reached for Xala’s hand and held it with a smile, clearly in awe and his mouth too dry to speak. Lilith, however, watched Xala head-on with a cool, easy, amused face. She sat up, set her elbows on the table, leaned forward, and said, “You’ll need to stay off the radar of the surface. I can help you there.”
Wakatya gasped, “Lilith! You’re actually thinking abouit this?” She leaned forward and whispered, “What if you get caught?”
Lilith smirked, shrugged, and kept her eyes on Xala.
Colhern chuckled and nudged Xala’s arm, “I’ve got the love of the people, maybe I can be the face of it all?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Wakatya groaned, wracked her brain, pushed the skin around her temples with her fingers, and sighed as she said, “You’ll need a guide to the people themselves. Knowing the history of Feltkan, Fae Town, and everyone inside of it will be crucial. I guess I can help you there.”
All eyes went toward Brook, whose concern carved canyons in his face. He matched their stares, took a deep breath, and faced Xala. “Can you ensure this won’t be violent?”
“No.”
That sent a pulse of unease through the table, which Brook followed up with, “What you’re talking about could hurt more people than segregation itself. What stops them from using this as an excuse to wipe out everyone in Fae Town? The surface hates us. What stops them from getting rid of us once and for all?”
This was important. Not what Brook was saying, but that he fell in line with Xala’s will. If he had these four people on his side, each one with their own skills and sways within the communities of Fae Town, then he would have a much easier time. Also, his frequent disappearances could be attested to political maneuvering. But, he could tell, without Brook they would not all join willingly. What could he say that would appease that question? It was an inevitable question many anxious people would ask.
He could appeal to the nihilism Wakatya mentioned. However, Brook did not strike Xala as the sort. Either now or later would not work with him and his argument. He was someone who communed with the natural world. The natural world did not have hierarchies as mortals understood them, but instead systems that constantly changed and thrived. Natural selection, the rise and fall of old orders into new ones, was the will of the world’s ley lines. Though, again, Brook did not seem like the type to accept a survivalist’s argument.
But, he found his appeal. The right configuration of words that would work on Brook’s personality and ego.
“I told you, back at the grove, how I view flowers. It is the same way I view many things. A puzzle to be solved. I need someone who views this whole situation like a nurse would a patient. Like a druid does a grove. I need someone who can see all of Fae Town and Feltkan as a grove, who can see what the needs and wants of its inhabitants are.” He glanced toward Wakatya. “You would also help me there, but I suspect we both share our logic-mindedness.” He went back to Brook. “If you do not want Fae Town to experience the fate you’re worried of, the one I too can imagine, then help me prevent it. Tell me what to do to avoid that fate, and I will listen.”
Personal, a touch of fearmongering, and flattering. Xala’s expression, a mix of feigned compassion and expertly contorted concern, was designed to seal the deal as best he could.
He watched Brook’s wide, conflicted eyes. He probably never considered himself a revolutionary. Based on his skepticism toward conspiracy he probably had a stubborn will. The extent of his political thoughts were local and community-driven in almost a rural sense. Xala could see the effect of his words like a fungus infects a tree. He could visualize Brook’s mind as his mycelium grew and spread throughout the trunk’s rings, filled every hollow void, and sparked new chemicals and thoughts to brew forth.
Finally, Brook sighed and shook his head, “No. It’s too dangerous.”
Xala’s concern broke into disgusted and cold indifference.
“Guys,” he waved a hand to Wakatya, “If you get caught, what stops you from losing your job? All of you? You’re trying so hard to get the surface to respect your research and what will this do? If you start a revolution, and it gets stamped out like all the ones before, you’ll be disgraced. Lilith, if you get caught the Guardians of the Lyceum will blacklist everything you do, you’ll have to change your name, hide yourself, and to what end? Until you’re held up in a secret bunker for the rest of your life? And Colhern, you’re a pitfighter. Last I checked, the crowd matters. What happens when you guys make everyone excited for change, and end up causing more pain and suffering than people deal with now? You’ll never be able to fight infront of a crowd again, Colhern. The best you’ll get are the local spots you got into when you first started, but with no hope of redemption.” He sighed, eyed Xala, and held an apologetic face. “It just isn’t worth it. We all have a lot to lose.”
Xala remained silent. How did it not work? How could he possibly have held an iron will against his words? Even the Emperor, through endless suggestions to give him more freedoms and access to the palace, eventually succumbed to his will. How did Brook not bend the knee of his psyche to him?
Wakatya sighed, “Brook’s right. I’ve spent years trying to get my research accepted by the surface. I’m so close. If enough of the nobles read my work, and decide to work with Fae Town because of it, we might not even need a revolution.”
Colhern frowned. He eyed Xala, held his hand, and said, “Maybe we’ll be able to visit Mora, or some other place, and you can show me anything you want. I like the idea of revolution, I really do, but I can’t put my friends in harm’s way.”
Lilith sighed. “No matter what happens, I can figure out a way to survive. But, if no one else is willing to join,” she leaned across the table, smirked toward Xala, and said, “I’m still down to obscure our presence on the Lyceum.”
Xala smiled toward Lilith. He was defeated by the weakness of others. He ought to ensnare their minds. He ought to whisper sweet temptations into their minds, lull them into darkness, and force them to submit. In fact, he could consume them all and acquire their memories, faces, and do it all himself!
He could even reanimate them into more than willing thralls.
It would be so easy. It would be so easy to slit their throats, kill everyone in the restaurant, raise them all, and begin his revolution.
Then, Colhern squeezed his hand reassuringly, “Xala, how about this? If Katya doesn’t get approved by the surface, I’ll help you start a revolution,” he said it as if it was a joke, a smile on his face, and kissed his cheek. “I promise.”
Brook kept quiet while Wakatya shrugged and said, “I’ll have no reason not to, if that happens. But, don’t jinx it!”
Colhern and Wakatya started to bicker, Brook joined in, but Lilith and Xala maintained eye contact. Xala was surprised by her determination as she held firm and nodded his way. In that instant, he felt a different sort of intelligence about her than he first assumed. He thought of her differently ever since she revealed she knew about his use of Colhern’s Lectern, but now, she seemed too prepared while her friends brushed both of them off.
Xala attempted to reach out telepathically, but found a fortified wall around her mind. A wall that resisted all offers of commune. He had never encountered a mind like hers with its endless fortifications. He supposed it was a side effect of her technological implants.
Lilith eventually broke their eye contact, joined in on the conversation around the table, and Xala maintained his poker face. He tapped his fingers along his thigh as he considered all kinds of plans and ideas.
Then, the waitress came over. She brought over their meals and drinks, set them down around the table, and Xala looked down at the water and crackers Colhern ordered for him.
Xala glanced toward his water, the white-gold champagne flutes around the table, and gently tapped Colhern’s as he asked quietly, so the others could not hear, “May I have some?”
Colhern blinked, narrowed his eyes, and asked, “You sure? I don’t think you’d like it.”
“That’s fine, I’m just curious.”
He permitted it, Xala took a sip, winced at the awful flavor, and shuddered as he took a few sips of his water to wash it down. Colhern chuckled as he said, “Was I right?”
“Yes, but can I have more?”
This time, his words spawned some concern. He leaned over, placed a hand on Xala’s back, and asked, “Are you feeling ok? I’m sorry we didn’t jump at the chance to,”
“I’m fine. I just want to see what it feels like. Being light-headed and whimsy. I want to know what all the fuss is about.”
Colhern swallowed, offered a weak smile, and said, “I’m not sure, maybe,”
“What? Afraid I’ll be too much for you when I’ve lost control?” He squeezed Colhern’s thigh.
That shut him up, made him shudder a little, and he simply nodded as he ordered another.
Xala swallowed more. As the night went on, he felt the drunkenness before he realized what it was, and his lips opened up to speak freely with Colhern’s friends. He laughed, joked, and danced from subject to subject with them. In his suspended sense of control, he felt a sort of liberation from his own senses. The necklace around his neck made it even more euphoric as he full-belly laughed and teased Colhern all throughout the rest of dinner.
But, in the back of his mind, in the furthest recesses of his thought palace, resentment festered. It was squished and cornered with every swig he took.
He would have to do it himself. Lilith seemed interested in his ideas of revolution, but she would not make an adequate thrall.
First, Aldoron would succumb to his suggestions, and then, the rest of the cult. Afterward, the Grave Snatchers, the Feathered Serpents, the Blood Worms, and on and on until every part of Fae Town was ensared by his influence. His lip twitched as he pondered the spread of faith and ideology, took another swig of alcohol, and allowed himself the loss of control for one night. It would be the last night he gave up control for a long time.
