Collective of Fiddlers

The fiddle is a curious instrument, difficult in its construction, tuneful only with effort, and more likely to sound like a cat being tortured than anything melodious.

The Collective of Fiddlers was a whole whining chorus of mistreated moggies. A ferociously miserable and high-strung cabal of cats. Peculiarly the collective shared the utter inability to recognize their mutual awfulness. Many a fine fiddler, new to Perjure, had sought them out. None had ever managed to pass through the threshold of their grand meeting hall, and even that was at risk of bleeding ears, and ground-bloody lips. They were so incredibly dire, but that didn't mean they were unpopular.

Oh, no, they were very popular, indeed. The Collective's diary was always busy, with this appointment, or that. They played in all the great halls, Opera Theatres, and performance spaces of Perjure. The simple reason being that no more effective method of pest control has ever been invented. A single performance and every rodent, roach and mite would be gone, leaving only a stench of terror (quickly removed with a light fragrance- lavender being the most popular).

Which was how the Collective became the most powerful of artistic (not just musical) groups, their coffers always full, and their interests expanding because, while none of them could play a single pleasing note, every single player knew good investments from bad.

In Perjure you don't piss off a fiddler, especially if they cannot play.