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Jurvaz is a simple man. He just wants respect and considering that he saved your life, you see no reason to deny him that.
Blayz is different. He is a conniving schemer who masquerades as a confident leader. If he is going to stay, his will must be broken first. You will shatter his will so thoroughly that he won't even be capable of plotting against you.
Your larynx burns as your vocal chords are primed. Your mind expands, quite literally, to the point where you can feel it pressing against your skull. When you open your mouth to speak, the sound that emerges is utterly inhuman. Your voice drops through the octaves to an undulating bass that makes your eardrums quaver, as though someone is smashing them with a hammer every time you utter a syllable.
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">“You do not deserve my succour. Kneel. Beg. Serve.”</span></span>
Your throat feels like you've just swallowed a mouthful of razorblades and your head throbs with a fierce migraine. The sight of Blayz's legs suddenly buckling as he falls to his knees makes up for that. Any trace of pride evaporates as the chieftain grovels before you.
“I'll serve, Three Hundred! I'll do anythin', I swear it!” His voice suddenly breaks and tears of shame flow freely down his wasp-stung face. “I always played the part o' chieftain but I was nothin' but a fool! You were always meant to rule, always an'... an' I am meant to serve. I know my place now, I know who I live for. Please, give my life meanin'! Give me purpose, Three Hundred!” All of the other Voss – Jurvaz included – stare at Blayz in shock. The haughty leader that they have know for all their lives has been replaced by this snivelling sycophant – at least for now. You will need to reinforce the memes you have implanted in his brain to make this last.
Yet a strange scent arises from the once-chieftain – the acrid tang of ammonia, of piss and sweat. Though your mind still aches, it suddenly races.
“Blayz, these fireflies that you spoke of... Did any of them touch you?”
“What..? They crawled all o'er everyone and everythin'. Forgive me if I stink o' the vermin, I don't mean to –”
“The wasps are drawn to them,” you snap. Pheromones – they're the only explanation for everything that occurred. You turn to Jurvaz. “Get everyone inside and get that door back up, now! Move it!”
Once all of the Voss are inside the inner reaches of the bunker, the reinforced door is dragged back into its original frame, though it needs to be held upright. You don't need to wait long for the wasps to arrive. A loud, angry noise can heard beyond the threshold for what feels like an eternity, while the tribesman huddle together and whimper. You only dare to open the door once the sound has subside and the swarm has moved on. By this point, your head and your throat no longer hurt – they have recovered sooner than you expected.
<span class="mu-r">Your memetic refractory period is over. You may now use a new memetic protocol.</span>
