"You f’ing human male! I gonna kick you in the tail! Goodnight, Amaranthine-knight! Oh yeah! I scream for Peace! I rip you to piece! When I come in your house, you better hide like a mouse! You Oppress me with your speech? You will die with a SCREECH! Yeah!!!!”
A blue-haired woman walked up to the stage and nodded to the departing singer and his band. “Thank you, Never Stray from the Cult Path. Your Songs of Tolerance are always appreciated.”
She then turned to the audience: roughly two hundred cheering cultists who had just rioted and destroyed the streets of Caelum Mount, some captured hoplite watchmen and other ‘racist’ prisoners, various goblins molesting others on the periphery, and Gottschalk and Gorm.
Gottschalk hoped that the cultists would execute him soon at least: listening to that ‘Never Stray minstrel’ was the worse torture imaginable. The wafting, hallucinogenic herbs that many cultists smoked around him did not settle his mind, nor the fact that the vast majority of them were human.
Why did they hate their own people so much?
“Just a reminder to our Goblin Friends!” yelled the blue-haired woman on stage so that she could be heard. “Remember to Respect the Rights of Our Currently-Female-Gender-Identifying Comrades...” She frowned for a moment, realizing that the Goblin Friends were strangely not heeding her reminder.
Finally, she turned her attention back to the cultist crowd before her. “And now we give to you the True Gods and Heroes!”
Gottschalk knew that this land was Olympian, different than his Teutonic home. He wasn’t very familiar with their Gods and customs, but knew that they were similar to his own at least. In any case, he doubted that what the cultists would show would be anything close.
Orc males festooned with crowns, chitons, Olympian armor, and fake beards then strolled upon the stage. Gottschalk made to laugh, but then saw that beautiful women, human women accompanied them as goddesses. He realized then that this was no joke, but in fact a move at replacing the very religion of the people in this land!
It made sense in a warped sort of cult way: they were replacing the folk here, why not change the very image of their gods too? Perhaps the herbs upon the air had finally begun to make him hallucinate.
“Me Zeus!” roared the orc performer. “You bow before me be...be... cause... I say so!”
It then moved over to attempt to mate with one of the human ‘goddesses’. The crowd of cultists looked on and cheered.
Gorm would have none of this and laughed loudly. He had begun to heal and drew up his large barbarian body, standing taller than any of the male cultists. Even they looked effeminate too, though they were just as nasty.
“Sit down!” shouted one. “You Racist! Can’t you see we’re trying to breed out your race!”
Gorm laughed even louder, so much so that even ‘Me Zeus’ stopped its gyrations for a moment.
The cultist crowd focused again on the orc. “Come on! Take her!” they screamed. “Humans must be punished for all they took, all they stole from you!”
Gorm finally stopped laughing. “Zeus not orc. Zeus look human.”
“Racist!” shrieked the cultists around him. “How do you know what Zeus LOOKS LIKE?!?!”
“How you know?” countered Gorm.
Gottschalk could tell where this was going. He began to look around for a weapon or some means of escape.
Soon a different group of cultists, older and in more refined dress arrived. Unlike the more roughshod rabble around them, some even bore chitons, though none had an orcish complexion. Even riotous, hateful hypocrites needed funding and it appeared that these were the patrons of this group.
“Greetings,” said the older man who spoke for the rest. “We’re from the Honesty and Peace Committee and would ask you to remain silent during the performance.”
He then pulled out a gag and smiled as he tried to place it over Gorm’s mouth.
Gorm stared at the patrons, dumbfounded. Even for cultists, these people were bizarre. He then did what any right-minded barbarian would do: he smashed the patron on his head with his fist.
The older man’s eyes crossed for a moment and then he collapsed. The other cultists, who had been screaming the entire time, went silent and stared at the barbarian.
Gottschalk was out of options: there were too many cultists around for him to either find something to fight with or escape. He then tried debating one of them, knowing full well that cultists never debated fairly.
“Sir, you say that humans took things from orcs, but aren’t you doing just the same?”
The other, non-barbarian-beaten patrons looked at Gottschalk for a moment. They appeared mildly intrigued and weren’t ready to sick the other cultists on such Unbelievers just yet. Still, he had made an error in their eyes.
“Don’t you mean: ‘Sir or Madame or What-have-you?’”
Gottschalk winced at the patron’s obvious lunacy. “You’re taking the Gods of these people and replacing them, just like you would have the people replaced too!”
The patrons nodded and then let the other cultists grab the men. In typical cultist fashion, it appeared that they had ended the debate with violence.
Gorm batted a few away, but there were too many for even him. Gottschalk simply tried to cover himself to prevent more serious damage.
He knew it was no use: they would both be sacrificed soon.
And as they were being dragged to the stage to receive the merciless attention of the orcish ‘new gods’ for the thrill of the cultist crowd, he wondered if very, very soon- they would get to see what the real Zeus actually looked like.
Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXII!