[You always had to manage these things perfectly, she found. Right down to where the video feed would be placed, showing a good angle but not nearly everything. The acolyte holding it had very specific instructions. For now, to look like they were in the background, broadcasting surreptitiously. The stage was deliberately intimate, for such a thing - that, too, played its role. Oh, there would be time for grandiosity later. For now? A basement room, filled with people.]
[They were all Trench residents - all lured there by the same siren song: redress. It was a room of those who had lost, had lost terribly, even. The Pthumerians bred pain and loss with great skill, she found - even the Sith weren't nearly so good at making misery that cut like a whetted knife. For someone like her, it was the perfect setting.]
[She put an elaborate display into her own appearance from behind a small, curtained-off area. At this range, she'd be unrecognizable - hair let down and greyed, body swathed in robes. Every effort had been made through hair, makeup and costume to appear to be a frail old woman, helped along by a young priestess. The Scepter of Rangos in her hand has been disguised, too, wrapped in feathers and bones. The time will come to reveal her role in all this - but for now? For now she bides her time.]
[The young woman helps her onto the small, flat dias that functions as a stage, before Tavion speaks, the querulous voice of an elderly woman:]Pain. I feel such pain here. Today, Mother Mercy weeps for you all.
[There is a smattering of whispered, surprised talk at the mention of the False Patron, and she suppresses a smile, beneath her good. Good. The first breakthrough is made.] Yes, she does - she who was thrown down, cast aside by the other Patrons, they who would rule over you as gods, who created this world of pain for you to suffer in. I can feel it, all of it. But the Mother...the Mother has shown me the
way, has granted me sight beyond sight. To see your pain. To find those of who you have suffered the most and raise you up into the light of her forgiveness - to make you strong to face this world.
Look around. People brought here with powers, given others, but never
you. No, you are made and meant to suffer at their whims, and that breaks the already broken heart of the Mother still further. The others will not raise you up - they offer you beasthood, corruption, suffering. The Mother offers her light, her tears - to create a new tomorrow.
Who here is prepared to step into her light? Who here has suffered enough at the hands of the Patrons to stand up and say
no more?
[She waits for the feeling she know she'll catch - a surge of anger, rage, resentment. And she finds it, in one young man. She can feel the miasma in his soul. Oh, yes, he has lost. She points a finger.]You. Step forward. Whisper to me, whisper to the Mother what you have lost.
[The young man steps forth as offered, and she leans forward, hand against his shoulder, as he tells a tale indeed. Lost parents, poverty, seeing friends succumb to beasts - oh, it is quite the mix. And above all, he wants to do something about it.]The Mother hears you, child. And gives you...her light.
[She stands tall, then, and the Scepter bursts with light, a beam of it striking the young man and lifting him bodily from the floor, seeming to cover his whole being in curling wisps of light. It only lasts a few seconds, and then he slowly falls. Force users may detect what has happened - not the Scepter itself, ironically: it came with vast amounts of Force energy already stored. And some of it, enough to create Force-sensitivity, has been imbued into this young man. This may not be the first time they have sensed it; the 'priestess' at her arm is her first convert. The man stands, looking at his hands.]You step into the greater world.
[She looks out at the audience.] Will you speak of what has happened this day? Will you tell those you know that Mother Mercy has not forgotten you? Has not abandoned you to suffer, as the Pthumerians have? The times begin to change, from here on. Go!
[Her voice rises, allowing a hint of suggestion into what she says.] Stand! Spread the word! And forevermore say:
Enough![The room practically erupts. Which gives her time to retreat, and time for the 'Priestess' to 'find' the video operator, smiling at him.]'Hello,'
[Said by a redheaded woman, smiling kindly.]'My name is Alora, I speak for the Mistress, who in turn speaks for the Mother. We must disperse soon, for safety - but if any wish to ask questions of me, I can briefly answer them.'
[Alora, the name of her last apprentice. She was particularly proud of that. This would be, she promised, just the small beginning.][OOC: Feel free to talk to the 'Priestess', or even discuss amongst yourselves! This may all build to a player plot down the line, for now it's just a 'what fresh hell is this' kind of post!] ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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