I met Lonso Drake in person on the first day of the shoot for Jordon Connelly’s new video.
They were shooting in a little dive of a nightclub. She had a trailer parked outside, crowded with a complete retinue of stylists and attendants, and I decided to wait inside the club and watch the crew dress the set, focus the lights, and so on. The choreographer ran the backup dancers through their routine, which they had to modify on the fly because the stage was smaller than they’d expected. The dancers were wearing slashed-up silver space suits, like they were all astronauts who had survived a crash landing and immediately went for beers. The performer playing the bartender wore a giant cat-head mask. A few extras played bar patrons, dressed like bizarre characters out of a new age tarot deck. This thing was shaping up to be chock full of WTF.
Just as I settled into a third donut from the craft services table (the first two were stress eating, this one was for actual pleasure), Lonso Drake, Exalted Scion of the Church of Gorvod, appeared at the back of the house. Lonso was white, he/him, tall and stupidly handsome in a smarmy way, his hair ever so slightly graying, wearing what was undoubtedly an obscenely expensive tailored suit because that’s what you wore when you were a high-end grifter preying on the spiritual weakness of others. Behind him trailed two people, a man and a woman I guessed, both white, wearing matching polo shirts and slacks, and a little bit burlier than I might have expected.
Lonso was not the founder of the Church of Gorvod, but under his unscrupulous guidance as Exalted Scion, the Church blossomed and spread across the United States. You could find zero positive press coverage of him or his Church, but he still attracted followers, perhaps drawn by the allure of seeing celebrities like Jordon parading around with him. But apparently, if you joined the Church and couldn’t afford to keep paying to have Gorvod’s wisdom revealed to you, you could wind up in a compound in the middle of nowhere, slaving away at menial tasks in the hopes of working your way back into Gorvod’s (or Lonso’s) favor. Somehow the Church’s lawyers kept the government out of its business, though. For every escapee with a horror story, the Church could trot out a dozen true believers to justify its religious status.
Lonso slowly took stock of the situation, his gaze taking in every detail of the environment, his expression remaining impressively inscrutable. Then his eyes found me sitting on a barstool in a corner, and a thin smile appeared on his face. He probably recognized me from monitoring Jordon’s video calls. He smoothly made his way through the hectic scene, closing in on me with an unpleasant enthusiasm, followed closely by his two shadows.
“Isobel,” he said as he sat on a stool next to me. “We finally meet. I’m Lonso. Jordon’s been raving about you ever since you came onto the project.”
“She’s pretty amazing,” I said. I couldn’t help but notice that the polo shirt people were staring directly at me with either a steely glare or a dead-eyed gaze, creepy in either case.
Lonso followed my eye and said, “That’s Phyllis and Max. They’re my Watchful Eyes, designated caretakers of my current incarnation’s soul chambers.”
I’m sorry—what now?
“Each time one of his most beloved Scions reincarnates, Gorvod sends Watchful Eyes to witness and record their deeds within the span of that lifetime. In this fashion, the continuity of a Scion’s legacy can be preserved across the dual chasms of death and time.” He turned, offered a friendly wave to Phyllis and Max. They smiled at him, then when he turned back around, they resumed glaring at me. “So, this spectacle you’ve arranged is intended to be a representation of the Shedding of Gorvod’s Thousand Skins.” He paused, then said with just a twinge of disdain, “I must admit I’m failing to understand how.”
“Well, the live-action scenes are like narration setting up the story,” I said. “The actual Shedding will be depicted with animation.”
“I see. Turning one of the central parables of the Church into a cartoon, is that it?”
“We considered puppets,” I said in my defense. “But the puppet skins we tested were a little too disturbing.”
“Jordon says you’re the Queen of Sparkle Dungeon,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “You’re a celebrity in your own right.”
“The Queen’s a celebrity,” I said. “I’m just in marketing.”
“You know, we used to study your live streams, back when you were doing them on a regular basis.”
“You play Sparkle Dungeon?”
“Oh, I just dabble, but many of my disciples are very keen on the game. I don’t suppose you’d consider coming by and giving them a few lessons in person?”
I froze. Say what?
“Ah,” he said, “I recognize that look. You’re afraid we’ll try to persuade you to dedicate your soul chambers to Gorvod. Well, you’re probably right, guilty as charged. But you haven’t been online lately. Where have you been?”
Truth was, I’d been spending nights and weekends in the lab as much as possible, studying Maddy’s notes and Alexander’s annotations, practicing power morphemes and pushing myself to learn more. I was in grind mode, doggedly determined to level up as fast as possible. I was also, not quite subconsciously, avoiding another encounter with the Dauphine of the Shimmer Lands. Lonso didn’t need to know any of this.
“I got hooked on a baking show,” I said.
“Well, don’t stay away too long. My players are aiming at your title.”
“Really? Gorvod’s Frenzy is a weird strategy for climbing up the leaderboard. They tend to get exterminated on sight. What’s the deal?”
“Trade secret,” he said with a curt smile.
I smiled back for no good reason. For the first time, I thought to wonder if Gorvod’s Frenzy was actually a power morpheme usability test in the game. I should’ve made that connection sooner.
“Power morphemes,” I said impulsively. “Is that your trade secret?”
He nodded slightly, and said, “Olivia tells me you’re quite a prodigy. How many have you learned?”
“Seventy-eight,” I told him.
He was genuinely impressed. “I’d love to get you into an etheric monitor sometime,” he said, referring to the Church’s pseudoscientific device for “evaluating” gullible novices. “I bet your readings would be off the charts.”
“You have charts?” I said innocently. “Like with data and everything?”
He seemed to suppress a sharper response, and instead said, “I’d be happy to show you our literature.”
“Don’t bother, I already torrented it.”
The notoriously secretive Church would undoubtedly send snipers to find whoever was seeding that torrent, but fuck them—ludicrous mythology about a tentacled space god’s commandments masquerading as information wanted to be free.
Jordon arrived on set, immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room and generating a round of applause. Her costume was amazing, a cross between a high fashion wedding dress and a motorcycle that had exploded.
“If this video embarrasses Jordon,” Lonso said as he stood to go greet her, “our next conversation will not be so easygoing.”
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, too,” I replied.