Chapter 77: Splendid! Simply Splendid! |
The gathering took place in the circular hall at the deepest part of the sewer.
It was a long-abandoned underground chamber, with an arched ceiling soaring several zhang overhead. The ancient brickwork, soaked for years by groundwater, was covered in dark green moss.
At the center of the hall stood a stone platform slightly raised above the ground, like the base of some altar. Its surface bore traces of melted wax and scorch marks.
Several dozen stone stools were scattered around the platform, arranged in an irregular arc.
A female mage and a man wrapped in a black cloak walked in from the end of the passageway.
Amy, and Allen, who had used Disguise Self to alter his appearance.
Two birds perched on Allen’s shoulders - two gray parrots. The one on the left kept swiveling its round, black eyes, as if sizing up everyone present. The one on the right sat quietly, never making a sound from start to finish.
A man from the gathering stepped forward to greet them.
Amy walked ahead, her voice kept low: "We were sent here by Alvin."
Several dozen people rose to their feet, applause echoing beneath the dome.
The man curiously studied the two birds on Allen’s shoulders, then asked with a grin: "Brother, why’d you bring pets along?"
Stella, transformed into a gray parrot via Polymorph, was bursting with excitement. She flapped her wings and squawked at the top of her lungs: "Splendid! Simply splendid!"
Morgan, however, remained completely still, only tilting his head slightly to glance at the man with one shiny black eye before turning away indifferently.
Hmph. A bunch of cultists.
Allen reached up and pressed the still-squawking Stella back down onto his shoulder. "Hahahaha, I just like keeping little pets, that's all."
The man extended a hand, reaching out to stroke Stella’s head.
Stella flinched back sharply, dodging the hand, then burrowed her entire body into Allen’s shirt, leaving only a gray-brown tail poking out and fluttering about.
The man tried to pet Morgan next, but Morgan jabbed his tiny beak hard into the man’s finger.
"Ow ow ow! Hahaha, quite the fierce one."
Allen shot him a glance but didn't acknowledge him.
He reached into his shirt, grabbed the still-wriggling gray parrot by the scruff of its neck, and pulled her out.
The gray parrot thrashed in his hand twice, letting out dissatisfied cooing sounds.
With a blank expression, Allen pressed her back onto his shoulder and said in a low voice: "Behave yourself."
It was unclear whether he was speaking to the bird or to the man.
The smile on the man’s face froze for a moment. For some reason, he felt a chill run down his spine. He obediently shut his mouth and led the two of them to stone stools near the back to sit down.
Low conversations buzzed in the hall - people chatting idly about the latest news in Dalaran, the stubborn old fools on the Kirin Tor council, and who had gotten chewed out by their mentor recently.
Then everyone fell silent.
A man in a dark red robe emerged from the shadows behind the stone platform.
He stood on the platform, his gaze slowly sweeping over everyone present.
"Not a single person here today has ever been understood."
The hall fell so quiet you could hear the flames dancing in the wall sconces.
"Feared for having too much talent. Questioned for walking too far ahead. Dismissed as a madman for seeing the future too clearly. Every single one of us has been through this."
His voice was as calm as still water, yet it carried a weight that pulled people in.
"They can’t comprehend our foresight. Can’t understand the unavoidable future we see closing in. Can’t grasp the sleepless nights, the all-consuming urgency with which we sacrifice everything for it."
"They don’t understand us." His voice suddenly dropped. "They reject us. Ostracize us. Persecute us."
"But," his voice rose sharply, "none of that matters. We will prove everything to them. We will overturn everything. We will have everything!"
Thunderous applause erupted in the hall.
Allen turned his head to look at the other side, where a young man had been sitting silently beside him the entire time.
Thin, pale features. Slightly prominent cheekbones. Thin lips pressed tightly together. A pair of gray-blue eyes that looked especially deep in the dim lamplight.
This pale young man hadn’t spoken a single word since the gathering began. No applause, no cheers. Not even a change in expression.
Allen leaned in, lowering his voice: "Brother, looks like we’re the only calm ones here. You just got here too?"
The man turned his head, his gaze lingering on Allen’s face for a moment.
Despite his plain appearance, he exuded a strangely strong sense of affability.
"No." The man’s voice was calm. "I just think our force is still too small. We should expand, form a real cult."
Allen raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh? Sounds like you have real vision." His tone carried a hint of warmth. "I think so too. I believe we should quickly draft a doctrine, find a path that suits us."
"What kind of path, for example?"
Allen wiggled his fingers. A thread of obscure black energy coiled around his fingertips.
"Actually, I’ve been researching necromancy lately." Allen’s voice dropped very low, as if sharing a secret. "I don’t think necromancy is as evil as people imagine."
Amy’s expression changed. Sitting on Allen’s other side, she clearly saw that wisp of black energy dancing at his fingertips.
The man stared at the shadow around Allen’s fingertips. Something flickered in his gray-blue eyes.
"May I ask your name?" His voice carried a newfound seriousness.
Allen reached into his shirt, grabbed the gray parrot that was trying to burrow into his collar again, and pressed her back onto his shoulder. The parrot let out a dissatisfied coo.
"My name is Ner'zhul." Allen’s tone was casual. "And you?"
The man paused for a moment.
"Kel'Thuzad."
Oh? So this was the future founder of the Cult of the Damned.
Allen tilted his head, a meaningful smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "Oh. I think we’ll have plenty to talk about."
The speech on the stone platform finally ended.
The man in the dark red robe stepped forward again, his fervent gaze sweeping over everyone before finally landing on Allen and Amy.
"Now then—" his voice carried barely concealed anticipation, "let’s see if our new members have what it takes to join us."
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned in unison. Those looks were like hungry people eyeing a freshly served dish.
Amy froze. She clutched the edge of her robe, her gaze darting nervously through the crowd.
But the gray parrot on Allen’s shoulder suddenly perked up. She poked her head out, fluffed her feathers, puffed out her chest, and swept her gaze proudly over everyone present.
The light shining from Morgan’s tiny eyes was so righteous it didn’t seem like it belonged to a bird. Several people, meeting that gaze, instinctively looked away.
Allen stood up with a smile and took a step forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly to every corner of the hall.
"Brothers and sisters." He spread his arms, as if embracing the entire world. "I feel it. I was born for this."
He paused, the smile at the corners of his mouth deepening.
"Those high-ups in Dalaran? All fools, imbeciles, and bastards."
A low chuckle rippled through the crowd. Some nodded. Some applauded.
"But we are not fools, imbeciles, or bastards. I believe that Dalaran’s future rests on our shoulders."
His voice gradually rose, like the tide coming in. "Talent is a curse. Excellence is a curse. Ability is a curse. We surpass ordinary people by too much. The stupidity and conservatism of those mortals restricts our gifted abilities, and that pains us."
People began murmuring in agreement.
"Like a curse." Allen’s voice suddenly dropped. "Magic itself has no sin. But those stubborn, foolish, rotten old fogeys - they can’t even grasp such a simple truth. They stop us from pursuing truth, from approaching the source. They don’t deserve to be our teachers—"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces illuminated by candlelight.
"They don’t deserve to lead Dalaran!"
Enthusiastic applause burst from the crowd. Some even stood up. Allen extended his palm and pressed downward, gesturing for calm.
The noise in the hall gradually subsided. Dozens of eyes stared at him with fervent anticipation.
"Our advancement, our foresight - though they are our curse—" his voice softened, almost to a whisper, "they are even more so our pride."
He took a deep breath and raised his voice to its peak.
"I propose that, from today onward, we should have a unified name to unite everyone."
The hall fell so silent that only the sound of flames dancing in the wall sconces remained.
"I propose—"
His gaze swept over the faces lit by candlelight.
"All of us gathered here, from now on, shall be called—"
He paused.
"The Cult of the Damned."
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