"I've never heard of this Marzec," you tell Clive.
"As is right and proper! The name itself is a curse, a blight upon all who live their lives correctly! The goddesses assure us that soon all the heretics will be rooted out, and the movement stomped flat."
Picking up on his expression, you raise an eyebrow. "Literally, I take it."
"Yes! The flesh of a Marzecite is unworthy of being devoured! They deserve no place in the divine afterlife!"
"Wait up - you guys think that being eaten is the way to get to Heaven?"
"We do not think," Clive says, the flame of fantacism in his eyes, "we know. This is the truth of the world, and we must help the goddesses grow to their true size so that they can devour ever more people, and save their souls!"
Shit, this guy is fully willing to drink the KoolAid! Yet mention of 'heretics' gives you a brief burst of hope: if you can only make contact with these rebels..!
"Well, thanks for the clothes, Clive," you tell him, doing a little twirl in your pink suit. "Now, what should I look out for in these Marzeccis -"
"Marzec<i>ites</i>."
"Marzecites, yes, sorry. What should I look out for, to avoid them, or inform the goddesses?"
Clive's eyes dart side to side before he leans in conspiratorialy to talk. "It is said that they can change their size to spy on you without being seen! They can see your dreams if they can steal your fingernails! And on Wednesdays -"
"No, I was thinking more of, like what they look like? Do they have a certain way of dressing, parting their hair?"
"I am sure that I would not know, sir! I am no heretic! Now, I must say that this subject is getting very disturbing!"
"Sure sure, well, um, let's not talk about it anymore, huh?"