Sufferer(diamonds)Disciple or Summoner: Maya (Sanskrit). It refers to belief — the often unfortunate belief — that the symbol of a thing is the same as the thing itself. It's the, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe," of the literary world.
The Summoner sits cross-legged in a pile on the floor of his tent, cradling a worn book close. He speaks softly to it, like he might to a frightened or wounded animal, and caresses the ancient pages. Mindfang watches him from the entranceway, rolls her eyes and coughs loudly, "Oh, Lover boy?" But nothing, Summoner continues reverently turning the pages of the tome.
Sighing, Mindfang crosses over to him and pulls sharply at his wings. "Lover boy, speech in ten." He yelps at the rude interruption, and levels a glare at her that's rather weakened by the sudden warmth behind it. She smirks at him before leaving, tent flaps swinging shut with finality behind her. He follows slowly, placing the book back onto the pile, and prepares himself for his own sermon.
The Summoner addresses the gathered cavalreapers and rebels with familiarity. They've fought together, gained scars together. They all live the word of the Sufferer together. He's been speaking for twenty minutes when he finally hits his stride. "This is not an item of justice!" he yells, voice hoarse but echoing across the crowd clearly. In his hand, dangling from an iron chain, is a replica of the shackles that held the Sufferer to the whipping block. His wings flutter restlessly in his rage, and his eyes burn with the fire of his passion (not that anyone but those closest to him can see it).
"This is the symbol of our savior, of the troll who died for us, who spoke of equality! The one who was forcibly silenced as our predecessors watched on and jeered!"
His borrowed words lend an almost manic urgency to his speech, and he channels the righteous fury that the Sufferer has blessed him with. By the time he's come to the close, the crowd has been whipped into a frenzied passion.
So he snaps the chain holding the shackles aloft, sending it crashing to the floor. "Will we allow this perversion of justice and equality to continue existing unchallenged?" he says, quieter than he's been since almost the beginning of his sermon. But then he roars, "Of course not!" the assembled rebels go wild, screaming with him for blood, for vengeance, for justice and equality. The Summoner crows, "We march at moonrise!"
The screams of his fighters and the pounding of their feet rock the world around them.
He returns to his tent and his book exhausted, but feeling alive. He always feels that way when he finishes a speech. The Sufferer's words are too powerful; they always take something from him. The book warned of it, but it's worth it.
He caresses the book's cover before pulling it in close. Hugging it to his chest, the Summoner hums. "It went well of course, Kankri." He speaks softly, in case Mindfang comes to investigate. She's never understood how powerful the bond of moirailship is that he and the book housing the Sufferer's soul share. "Your words are always powerful."
The book says nothing of course, because it is of course only a book detailing the life and words of the Sufferer, and not the Sufferer's soul trapped on Alternia.