Viv returned to the base camp with aching legs and found a mob. Said mob had gathered in the mine entrance’s main square and people practically jumped on her when she arrived. Viv felt like a firefighter going from one catastrophe to another. Cover the convoy? Send the black caster. Need to detoxify the land? Caster. Talk to the people? The caster. Negotiate a fucking trade agreement? That’s right. Her again. She was clocking more overtime than the average investment banker.

Viv’s grumblings were replaced by alarm when she realized the source of the problem.

“So, do you agree that we Kazarans deserve the land and should kill and drive off any newcomers?”

Ooooh someone had lit the firecracker on a dog turd. She had to douse this before it blew off and plastered them all. Her money was on the grocery store owner. That massive twat.

Viv walked with the appearance of confidence towards the elevated ground, her mind going on overdrive.

“Viviane?” Farren said by her side with worry.

“I know. Shut up.”

She stood up and watched as a wave spread through the crowd before her. Light spells bobbed in the air, giving the entire cavern a surreal aspect. Between this and the clothes, the scene was intimately familiar and utterly alien at the same time. The locals had a greenish tint to their skin and wore undyed clothes. They also stank with an aggressive pong that even the summer crowd back home had not matched. At the same time, the organic way they moved, like a giant organism, was known to her. Silence spread and people turned, and more people would turn and more groups would fall silent. It was the same strange physics that let people sing rolling hymns or stampede. The diffuse mind of the masses.

Terry Pratchett had once said that the IQ of a mob was that of its lowest member divided by the number of participants. She understood the comment but looking at all those avid faces, she realized that there was also an opportunity for something better. Not all speeches had to be for the sake of the speaker. She could… yes. She could teach them about modern values. There were opposing theories on the essence of a nation. Some were based on blood, the ethnic group, the culture. Others were based on ideas. Both had their pitfalls, but at least one of them did not promote xenophobia.

That she could remember.

At least not actively.

Viv’s brain went into overdrive once more, the leadership and polymath skills helping her structure and articulate her thoughts.

“What is a Kazaran?” she asked, voice amplified by a spell.

She had silence and their full attention now. Better not think about it too much.

“A Kazaran is someone who stands with the deadlands before them and the infinite wood at their back, on that thin strip of land we call home and fights for it, yeah?”

“Yea!”

“Aye!”

“A Kazaran is someone who sees Prince Asshole come for their land and, instead of bending, travels to this mine to oppose him, yeah?”

“Hear hear.”

God that was such bullshit. Anyway, as long as racism didn’t take hold…

“So everyone here, everyone who walked the long trail and carried their family so that they would not be slaves is a Kazaran. We are all Kazarans here, right?”

“Yeah yeah.”

It was easy. She could say ‘All Kazarans like cake’ and people would first say yes then actually think about cakes.

“You there,” she said, pointing at a man she remembered almost turned back with his family on the first day, “what’s your name lad?” she asked.

He squirmed under everyone’s scrutiny.

“Come on, don’t be shy, Kazaran. Tell us.”

“Dorrel, goodmother.”

Goodwhat? Ah, whatever.

“And where do you come from?”

“Enoria, goodmother, the north. The border region, near the silent field.”

“And you’ve been here for how long?”

“Five years, goodmother… me and my family…”

“Came here to find a future free of conflict, am I right?”

“Yes…”

“Someone who came here for a new life, who made the land better. That’s a real Kazaran right here. And you?” she asked, addressing a guard.

“Kazaran born and raised!”

There were a few cheers.

“That’s right, a fighter who held the line against the beastling tide, I remember you. Another true Kazaran you are, sir. And is there anyone here who would dare claim that Resh Ganimatalo was not a Kazaran?”

No one spoke, which was as much conviction as survival instinct, really.

“That’s right. She was from far away but she fought her whole life for the city. Northern Enoria, Southern Enoria, Baran, the Pure League. Hell, even Helock. It doesn’t matter where everyone comes from. What matters is that we all stand here at the edge of the abyss, together. It matters that we all came here to the mine because we wanted to be free!”

“Yeaaah!”

“When you look at your neighbors, do not think of their old homes or their native tongue, think that they are by your side today, in our darkest hour, and that we will face Prince Twat together. For unity! For freedom! For Kazar!”

“For Kazar! Freedom!”

That roused them nicely. Ooof. Ethnic cleansing averted.

Leadership: Beginner 5