The Factions

Source: Planewalker's Handbook p.54

Depending on who a body asks, he'll h=be told that the factions are the lifeblood of the planes - or the worst plague that's ever befallen them. Course, it’s not like anyone can remember a time when there were no factions. Most of the groups that exist today are just a thousand years old or younger, but other factions were around before that time as well. The bands weren't always so organized, either, and there used to be a good deal more of them - four dozen or so, all bickering and brawling. It was the Lady of Pain herself who eventually forced the factions to limit their number to IS, in an event called the Great Upheaval that took place over 600 years ago.

Each faction looks for the meaning of life, the path to power, or the dark of the planes. In short, they all seek truth. Problem is, most of’em believe they’ve already found it, and they try to persuade everyone else to accept their view as the one true way. Over the years, this kind of open-minded undertaking has claimed the lives of thousands of sods.

Faction Central: Sigil

Faction strength is at its peak in the City of Doors - that’s where they’re all based, and where they wield the most influence. Fact is, most berks’d say the factions hold the reins of power in Sigil. Sure, everybody's beholden to the Lady, but the real day-to-day clout is in the hands of the factions. Many of the factions wield real authority - the Harmonium catches criminals, the Fraternity of Order tries court cases, the Mercykillers run the Prison, the Fated collects taxes, the Signers preside over the Council of Speakers, the Dustmen oversee the Mortuary, and so on. For some factions, though, their importance is self-imposed. For example, the Athar keep a close eye on priests and temples, the Believers of the Source try to keep the peace, and the Bleak Cabal treat the sick and barmy. But official or not, all factions play important roles.

Once a body leaves the Cage, the significance of any single faction ranges from moderate to little to none. Oh, each group has a refuge or base on a different “home plane,” and they try to exert at least some influence over their chosen territory. The Dustmen, for example, have built a fortress on the Negative Energy Plane, though few others give a hoot about the place. The Dead might also congregate in areas that reflect their beliefs - like the realms of death gods, for instance.

Go to Gehenna, though, and more than likely folks don’t give a sodding whit about a body’s faction allegiance. That’s even more true on the plane of Fire or Earth. In some places, faction membership means nothing; power and influence are measured in different coin. And that's not really so hard to understand. Think about it. berk - it’s surprising that a bunch of thought guilds from one city have as much effect on as large an area as they do.

Sects

On planes where the factions don’t hold sway as much as they do in Sigil, other organized groups with wide-reaching philosophies take their place. These groups are called sects. Some are former factions that fell in importance or membership (perhaps because of the Great Upheaval). Others are just groups that espouse ideas unique or limited to a particular plane or realm.

Many, many sects litter the planes, but some of the more well-known groups include:

• the Ring-givers of Ysgard, who believe that by giving everything away, they receive the true wealth of the multiverse;
• the Dispossessed, a bunch of angst-ridden outcasts who grumble on Pandemonium and Carceri;
• the Order of the Planes-Militant, self-proclaimed defenders of Mount Celestia;
• the Incantifiers, who believe that mastering magic is the key to total power;
• the Prolongers, whose fear and hatred of death drive them to cling to life by any means; and
• the Ragers, who say a body can prove his worth only by besting others in physical challenges.

Belonging to a Faction

Joining a faction is usually fairly easy. Most of the time, a sod’s just got to show up at the right place, flash a bit of jink, and put forth the right attitude. It never hurts to be sponsored by a full-time member of the faction, too.

All new members are called namers , and most factioneers remain namers throughout their lives. That’s because they don't get involved in their faction’s administration - or its intrigue. Namers proudly wear the group’s symbols, but few would give their lives for the cause. And that’s fine lots of folks owe their allegiance to a faction without giving it all their time. Plenty of namers who join the Harmonium end up becoming the enlisted troops in their armed forces, but not all of them do. Most remain butchers, cobblers, scribes, and the like. But they still hold fast to the beliefs of their faction, and that’s the important thing.

Those namers who do prove themselves particularly devoted to the cause might be promoted to the rank of factotum. Factotums are full-time faction members who devote all of their time to the administration and advancement of the group. They run messages back and forth, escort faction guests around Sigil, and fill other positions of low responsibility. They look upon their membership as a calling, an occupation that fills their entire lives. Truth is, factotums think of themselves as the ones who really get the faction’s work done.

The high-ups of the factions are called factors. These bloods have positions of great responsibility, but they also wield a good deal of authority within the faction and its purview. The only member higher in rank is the factol the leader of the faction. It’s interesting to note that factors and factols are sometimes, but not always, the most devout believers or the most profound thinkers in their factions. Other times, they’re just the most capable leaders or even simply the most popular. It’s difficult to focus on the dogma of the faction and maintain the administration of so large a group at the same time.

Faction membership has its rewards and restrictions. Those completely devoted to their group's philosophy gain certain abilities, proving again that the planes are fueled by belief. (Most namers have the same basic abilities, and gain more skills as they move up in rank.) If a factioneer ever loses his convictions, he loses the special abilities - even if he’s still technically a member of the faction. See, the power ain’t in the name; it’s in the faith. That’s something that eludes a good many berks. Some of them just pretend to have the special abilities of their factions, hoping to conceal their deep-rooted lack of faith.

For the most part, the doctrines of the various factions are mutually exclusive, but not necessarily diametrically opposed. A basher can cherish the tenets of his faction with complete sincerity, yet still sympathize with the philosophies of another. That’s why certain factions ally with one another they can see merit in similar credos. ’Course, sympathy only goes so far. A body can’t actually belong to two factions at the same time (well, the Anarchists can, but they’re a special case).

Changing Factions

It’s possible to change factions, but it doesn’t happen very often. For one thing, most people don’t have a dramatic change of heart when it comes to their basic beliefs. What’s more, the factions - as organized groups with agendas and enemies - don’t take quitters lightly. Faction membership is extremely important, and turning stag is dangerous. No faction (as an entity) likes to suffer such a betrayal, and no factioneer (as an individual) likes being made to feel like a leatherhead for trusting and confiding in someone thought to be a kindred spirit.

The bad feelings hold across the board. Even such freewheelers as the Indeps and Xaositects frown upon those who switch allegiances, though all a sod usually earns from them is scorn. The Harmonium, on the other hand, scrags turncoats and hauls them into the City Court, hoping to see them sentenced to death for their “treachery.” The other factions fall somewhere in between.

But a basher’s problems don’t stop when he quits his group. If he then tries to join another faction, he often hits the blinds. See, the new bunch is likely to worry that the berk’s not reliable. If he hipped his last faction, why won’t he do the same to them? A quitter who wants to sign up with a new faction needs to have a silver tongue, a well-respected sponsor, and a lot of garnish.

Anyone who succeeds in switching from one faction to another gains the new group’s abilities and restrictions and loses those of the old group.

Avoiding Faction Membership

Not everyone joins a faction. Planar player characters should begin the game belonging to a faction, and prime-material PCs are encouraged to sign up. But plenty of NPCs all over the planes avoid membership. They don’t feel the need to waste their time with endless debates of philosophy or bureaucratic intrigues. They forfeit the connections, the camaraderie, and the protection, but they avoid all the bother.

A very rare few believe in what a faction stands for, but don’t belong to the actual group. They see no reason to saddle themselves with a needless organization just so they can believe what they already know to be true. Even rarer are those bloods who focus their faith without the aid of the faction and gain the special abilities on their own. This luxury should be reserved for NPCs only. As noted above, power flows from belief, not membership.

The Athar

To High Pontiff Finthir Sociuni of the Temple of Tyr, from Acolyte Third Rank Sandin Manir:

My lord, it is with great regret that I find myself compelled to put my quill to paper to present you with my formal resignation from service. I find my once-strong faith shaken to its core, and the remnants insufficient to one who might some day attain the rank of priest.

After hearing your speech proclaiming the ultimate heresy to be the faction known as the Athar, I know you shall find great disappointment in the fact that it is the very “Defiers” you warned us against who have convinced me of the errors of my ways.
Over the past few months, I have had the great honor and pleasure in speaking with Factol Terrance of the Athar, a serene man with whom I know you would find friendship were your basic beliefs not so diametrically opposed. The factol himself took the time to listen to my crisis of faith, and then explained the nature of the faction.
I am sorry to say that you seem less open-minded. Do you truly understand the teachings of the Athar? Have you tor one moment considered their belief that the powers, even mighty Tyr, are indeed as mortal as you and I? Powerful beings, yes, much mightier than we can hope to be, but not gods - not the divine entities that you proclaim them. If true divinity does exist, it is a force unknowable by any who draw breath.

My lord. I cannot help but think this is the ultimate truth. If grand Tyr is so mighty, why does he need the likes of me to serve and worship him? If it is my choice, I shall reserve my worship for a deity that deserves it, not one that needs it.
On the morrow, I shall present myself for membership at the Athar headquarters in Sigil: the Shattered Temple. From here on. I renounce not only the modest powers bestowed upon me by Tyr, but all spells from all other deities. I turn my back on religion as we know it, for I know that it is no distant power that guides my destiny. Rather, it is I who am the master of my fate.
My greatest goal now is to raise myself to the rank of athaon, the name given to factotums of the Athar. I hereby devote my very life to the faction, and to their dedication at challenging the lie known as religion.

The Believers of the Source

Excerpt from A prime's Guide to Sigil:

Primes: Take no offense if a Godsman refers to you as a “throwback” or a “bottom rung.” Unlike many folks in the Cage who snub the Clueless, the Godsmen do so with no malice (usually).

See, the faction thinks that the multiverse is one big proving ground. Every sod on the planes is being tested that’s the whole point, the end sum of life. Why? To see who’s worthy of ascension. A sod who fails a test is reborn after death to do it all over again. If he really messes up, he might even come back as something worse off than before — for example (as some say), a prime.

A cutter who passes his life’s test, though, is reborn into a higher form for another test, and so on, and so on, until he finally reaches the end. Factol Ambar claims that such lucky folks find a better place and a whole new existence that we can know nothing about.

The faction got its name because they think there might be a higher force that’s doing all the testing. It’s not the deities, the powers that we know. No. the gods are being tested, too - they’re just farther along than most folks (a belief that shares a lot of common ground with the Athar). Fact is, the very existence of the powers should lend strength to the hearts of struggling sods everywhere. Factioneers say that everyone has the potential to become gods by passing enough of the cosmic tests (that’s why the Believers are often nicknamed the “Godsmen”).

'Course, it ain’t as easy as all that, mainly because no one knows what we’re all being tested for — ultimate good? Total evil? Complete selflessness? The Godsmen don’t know. Once they figure it out for sure, they’ll all be on the road to ascension. But in the meantime, they’re slowly tempering their spirits like steel, learning with each new experience whether it’s a success or a failure.

In keeping with this idea of tempering steel, the Godsmen run Sigil’s Great Foundry, smithing and forging all manner of metal items in huge furnaces. Anyone who wants to join the faction’s got to put in sweat time working at the forges - more as a test of their character than anything else.

A namer is then assigned to a mentor, who teaches faction doctrine and conducts tests of his own devising. Because all Godsmen have varying views of what the final achievement is to be, mentors teach the candidates different lessons and test them for different strengths.

In the end, the Believers of the Source have one of the most diverse faction memberships. At the heart of it all, they believe in the ultimate worth of every individual, from the lowliest cutpurse to the noblest blood - and that includes primes. As a result, they’re a hard bunch to dislike.

The Bleak Cabal

Bein' down don’t always mean bein’ bad. So we don’t see it the same way you do - does that make us barmy? Some say it does; they call us madmen. But we don’t much give a fig what anyone says.

Here’s the Bleaker philosophy in a nutshell: Quit lookin’ for meaning in the multiverse, because there ain’t any. It’s not even random, like the Xaositects say. It’s nothing. There’s no point to the planes, to life, to anything. No overwhelming answer to all our questions. All we’ve got is ourselves and the folks around us. So forget all the other wash. Instead, look inside. Focus on you, me, and the needy sod standing over there.

Our membership’s among the most dedicated of all the factions. A sod don’t join the Bleakers unless he really believes. No one joins to look good, ’cause everybody hates us. No one joins to have a good time, ’cause we don’t. Sure, some berks think it’s fashionable to be mad. But they learn fast. See, there’s no reason to join the Bleakers - that’s the point.

Some factions bang the drums to fill out their ranks, but we don’t even tell folks how to join. If you come down to the Gatehouse askin’ to be a Bleaker, we might even try to talk you out of it. That’s if we care enough to even look at you twice. Only those who really believe stick it out until they’re just plain consumed into our ranks. Myself, I remember following a Bleaker namer all around the Cage, askin' him questions and demandin’ answers. It took me three months to realize that there weren't any. That’s when I tumbled to how it all works.

I’ve still got a long way to go, though. Sometimes I catch myself lookin’ for a reason or some sort of scheme to explain things away. Old habits die hard, and most folks don’t teach their kids Bleaker philosophy to grow up by. Mine sure didn’t. My father’s still a tried and true Signer, and he hates what I’ve become. My mother never went in for true faction membership, but she does like me puttin’ in time at the almshouse. ’Course. I don’t see much of my parents now. We’re taught to give up any meaning that our old lives might’ve had. It’s for the best.

Sure, some of us go mad. Just happens. Factotum Jurrese told me that once a cutter realizes the utter truth, he’s got to go mad to stay sane. That didn’t make much sense to me at the time, but it’s gettin’ clearer every day. Should that worry me?

“Anyway, we ain’t evil. Fact is, it’s us that help the poor and needy in the Cage - and in other burgs, as well. It’s us that run the soup kitchens, the orphanages, and the madhouses. See, if there ain’t nothin’ to the multiverse, maybe’s there’s somethin’ in people — at least, that’s what the more optimistic Bleakers think.

Optimistic Bleaker? If I could remember how. I’d laugh.

- Reven Tresnu, a Bleaker

The Doomguard

The following exchange between a Doomguard factor and an Indep was recorded by a Guvner scribe:

Indep: See, the Doomguard’s got the idea that things only get worse. Me? I think that’s a little harsh.
Doomguard: You don’t know the meaning of harsh. All things decay, all things die, all things decompose. It’s called entropy, and it’s the force that rules the multiverse.

I: So you Sinkers just sit back and watch it all fall apart. And here I thought Bleakers were apathetic.
D: Nothing lasts forever, berk - not even you. You’re decaying as you speak, inching nearer and nearer to death. But you’re wrong - not all of us are content to let things crumble on their own. Some in our faction like to help them along.

I: Tell me about it! Last week, a sodding Sinker set fire to my friend’s tent in the Bazaar!
D: No doubt it would’ve collapsed soon anyway. But don’t forget who runs the Armory. We’ve got enough weapons and bashers there to tear down all of Sigil, if that were our goal.

I: Chant says that is your goal.
D: Chant says a lot of things, berk. But the Doomguard isn’t a haven for rippers. When someone comes to the Armory to join us, we test him. He’s got to prove his willingness to give up his old life, give in to entropy, and promote chaos. The tests also weed out the foolishly destructive - wanton displays of devastation aren't part of our plan. We favor ruin with a purpose.

I: So destroying Sigil doesn’t have a purpose.
D: Not now, anyway. The city’s falling to pieces just fine on its own.

I: No wonder the Harmonium want to bring you down.
D: Worry about yourself - chant says your type’s on the wrong end of a Hardhead club more often than not. As for us, the Mercykillers find our ways easier to digest, and you know how all those law-boys stick together.

I: Oh, there's a bunch of berks known for their prudence. They probably like you addle-coves ’cause you wave your weapons and Hash your armor as much as they do. I’ve heard that every Sinker’s trained in using a sword even the wizards. And your high-ups get special swords, too - entropy blades, or some such, and you -
D: Shut your bone-box! How does a leatherhead like you know the dark of such things?

I: Afraid of the truth? You’ll not get many believers in your cause if you recoil from the light.
D: It hardly matters, friend. We’ll be the ones laughing in the end, when the last chunk of stone in the multiverse finally turns to dust.

The Dustmen

Excerpt from A prime's Guide to Sigil:

The Dead are just that - or so they claim. They believe that everyone has already passed on, that existence as we know it can’t possibly be real “life.” Life is good, they stress, with positive feelings, emotions, and experiences. Time on the planes is drab, miserable, and full of pain - it can’t be life. Fact is. the planes and everything in them are just pale reflections, mere shadows of some better place where life exists as it should be.

It’s the true dead - the undead, as some call them - that provide the answers. These creatures have no passions, no emotions; nothing hinders their existence. All berks should strive to attain similar purity, the state known as True Death. To do so is to examine what is mistakenly called “life,” in order to fully understand its absence and the unfettering of passion. But rushing headlong toward death ain’t the answer. A leatherhead who takes such matters into his own hands just doesn’t get it - he hasn’t attained the purity.

A splinter group of the Dustmen call themselves the Hopeful. They believe that once they've achieved the purity of True Death, they’ll be rewarded with True Life. As a body might expect, the Hopeful are few in number, and disregarded by most of the Dead.

The Dustmen’re a depressed group - that’s as plain as the nose on an imp. Funny thing is, factioneers don’t set out to be morbid and woeful: they strive to rid themselves of all emotions. But their beliefs are grounded in negativity, so it’s often impossible not to exhibit at least a shade of gloom. For this reason, it’s rare to find an elf or bariaur in the faction.

On the other hand, their introspective nature and thought-provoking beliefs bring many intellectuals (often wizards) to the ranks.

It’s easy enough to join, too - the Dead don’t turn anyone away. But most folks in the faction never fully grasp the teachings, never reach the state of True Death. Many never even rise higher than namer rank. Those who do are called Initiates , and chant says there are a good number of undead among them.

In Sigil, the faction maintains the Mortuary, where they prepare and dispose of deaders from every ward in the Cage. The building’s riddled with portals, and the stiffs are sent off to final resting places elsewhere (many are buried in cemeteries on other worlds or cremated on the plane of Fire). Some say that work duty in the Mortuary is what keeps so many namers from advancing. After all, espousing death is one thing, but handling corpses all day long can tax even the coldest heart - until the handlers learn to shed their emotions like an empty second skin.

The Fated

Takers, the Heartless, the Coldbloods - the names folks have for us ain’t exactly designed to make a body warm up to us, are they? I think it’s just screed, myself. The multiverse needs us. Not that we really care if we help others, mind you. That’s a concern for the weak and foolish. The multiverse helps those that help themselves.

That’s the key, see? If a coin falls out of your pocket, it’s mine if I’m quick enough to grab it and strong enough to keep it. If I’m tired of berks knocking me around, I struggle and sweat until I reach a position of respect. Wealth, power, friendship, happiness - it all belongs to the capable, to those who know how to obtain it. Take all you can, and push till you can’t push anymore. Those who make it to the top belong there. Those who complain about bad luck or unfair treatment don’t deserve any better.

Does this make us heartless? No. Just practical. You can't deny how the multiverse works. If you try, some canny cutter’ll take your place, your jink, and your rights while you sit around and whine. Do I love my husband? Do I care for my children? Sure I do. I’m not a self-centered witch. But I teach my kids to take what they need - what they want and not to waste pity on the sods who can’t make the grade.

I’ll give the Cagers this, though: They were smart enough to let us run the Hall of Records. It takes a sharp mind to keep track of the city’s deeds and business dealings, and a strong heart to collect the taxes. Basically, the Fated keeps records of everything, especially what everyone has, and who better?

I was just a young girl when I went to the Hall of Records and applied for faction membership. I had to pass a long series of mental and physical tests, but I remember in particular one perfectly barmy challenge. Faction high-ups maneuvered me into a situation where a bag of jink was just sitting on a table in a bar. No one was around, so I took it. Then a bunch of Takers came in and told me I'd failed the test — I took the money when I hadn’t worked for it. They said that a member of the Fated can’t have anything she hasn’t earned.

I told them that was a bunch of wash. By just taking the bag, I showed that I deserved it, 'cause no one was able to stop me. I earned the jink by being in the right place at the right time, and by not letting ethical qualms get in the way of taking what I wanted. Well, the high-ups said they didn’t want the Fated to be a bunch of thieves, but they couldn’t argue with my reasoning. Needless to say, I got in, and they sent that test to the dead-book.

- *Tava of the Fated

The Fraternity of Order

1. The Fraternity of Order is one of the fifteen sanctioned factions of Sigil.
   • The faction is based on the foundations of law.
     1. Law governs everything.
     2. All laws have loopholes.
        • Loopholes can be discovered.
        • Loopholes can be exploited.
     3. The loopholes in the laws of the multiverse are the secrets to power.
   • The faction runs the court system of Sigil.
     1. Faction members are often called Guvners.
     2. Faction headquarters is in the City Court itself.
     3. Faction members judge the cases of criminals apprehended by the Harmonium, the faction’s allies in law.
        • Faction members interpret the laws.
     4. Faction members may also prosecute, provide defense, and transcribe the trials.
2. The Fraternity of Order is the oldest and greatest of the factions.
   • The faction was the first to create a charter.
   • The faction is the most organized, orderly, and law conscious of them all.
   • The faction is appealing to prospective members.
     1. Only the most intelligent and capable candidates can pass the tests of general knowledge and legal matters required for membership.
     2. Namers are allowed to serve as Aides in the legal process and work for faction Administrators.
     3. All faction members learn so much about the multiverse that the understanding of languages and lore becomes second nature.
     4. Experienced faction members learn to exploit the loopholes of the multiverse.

The Free League

The following leaflet was nailed (anonymously) to a post in the middle of Sigil’s Great Bazaar:

An Open Notice to the Editor
of The Factol's Manifesto

Where’s a cowardly berk like you get off putting the Free League in your fancy book? Mind you, I can’t argue with shining a light on the factions, showing that none of ’em know enough truth to fill a shoe, but the Free League ain't one of those addle-coved groups. You bean-counters always list us among the fifteen, always think you can slap us with labels and put us in rows. What screed!

Your lot says we’re called “Indeps” because we’re too neutral, too weak-minded , to take a stand. You say we just can’t commit, can’t pick a philosophy and stick to it. But you’ve got it backward. To be an Indep means to’ve tumbled to the dark of the factions: None of ’em know the road to truth. And all those joiners who sign their minds away are just shutting their eyes to anything but what their factol says. They’re stuck on one road when they could travel many.

I’m not saying the League’s a catch-all for cutters who don’t join factions. Being an Indep means a lot more than just having ideas that don’t fit somewhere else. An Indep has the strongest belief of all: the faith in a basher’s freedom to do, say, and think whatever he sodding well pleases. A berk who starts locking his brain-box into anything more concrete can go elsewhere.

The Free League’s proud to be nothing more than a loose-knit bunch of like-minded folks who hold freedom more dear than life. Sure, we cooperate, we've got a few networks, we toss chant back and forth, but that don’t make us a faction. Just because we hang around the Bazaar don’t mean we call it kip. We’ve got no headquarters, no factol, and no representation in the Council of Speakers - which means that we’ve got about as many rights in this city as cranium rats do.

It’s no secret that the sodding Hardheads think we are rats, trying to drive every last one of us out of the Cage. Other factions mostly leave us alone, but the Hardheads just can’t stomach the fact that we’re open-minded, yet still defiant. They think we’re saying “We don’t know what to believe, but we know we don’t agree with you.

Hah! We know exactly what we believe. Folks think it’s easy to be a Free Leaguer because all it takes is a profession of independence. We don’t make a sod jump through hoops like the factions do. ’Course, it can be hard to find us, but the Bazaar’s full of well-lanned bashers who can point a free-thinker to one of our hangouts.

Bui here’s a warning to Leatherheads who plan to seek us out just for laughs: If you have strong convictions about anything except freedom, do yourself a favor and stay home. We won’t censor your ideas or beliefs, but if you’re sure you know the path to truth, you belong with the factions, not the Free League

The Harmonium

The Mercykillers

Justice. It’s what separates us from the dogs in the streets. As intelligent beings, we can see what’s right and wrong. And we can avenge wrongful acts, making things right again. Sometimes enforcing the law maintains justice. Sometimes, to achieve true justice, a body must go beyond the laws of mortals. Justice is the higher law - the True Law.

The Mercykillers are the tools of justice. We don’t make laws. We don't interpret laws. We simply mete out justice to those who break the laws. It’s a huge responsibility, but our vision of justice is the clearest, so it’s our duty. And if we ourselves must break other, lesser laws in pursuit of the True Law, so be it.

We find it useful to work with the Harmonium and the Fraternity of Order. Their sense of law - and its timely enforcement - is admirable. But they occasionally they lose focus of the True Law. And that’s where we come in. We maintain the Prison in Sigil, where cross-trading swine are held and punished. When necessary, we execute the guilty, either within the Prison’s walls or in a public spectacle at Petitioner’s Square.

Some call us the Red Death, thinking that we revel in the last gasps of berks dangling from the leafless tree. But we don’t. We revel in the sweet justice of a criminal getting his due. We revel in the avenging of wrongs. We revel in making sure that no one gives justice the laugh, that no one escapes his deserved rewards.

Many hear the call of justice. They come to the Prison and ask to join our ranks, prepared for a grueling battery of tests. But we have none. We present only the cold, hard facts about the True Law and the unswerving dedication to it expected of all Mercykillers. Those who listen to our words and still wish to join us may do so. It’s that simple - and that hard.

“Members who prove themselves worthy may one day join the faction’s elite, hand-picked by Facto! Nilesia herself. These bloods — called Justiciars - track their quarry to the darkest pits and farthest peaks of the multiverse. They devote their lives to chasing down heinous criminals that slip through the fingers of the law.

Because law isn’t perfect. Justice is.”

- Relin Jasison, Justiciar candidate

The Revolutionary League

To: Mover Five Tonat Shar.
From: Notary Three Guin Rhond.
Re: The Revolutionary League.

As ordered, I have observed the activities of the Revolutionary League and their attempts to undermine the peace, prosperity, and well-being of Sigil. Their subversion is as prevalent and widespread as we had feared.

These berks believe that all factions, including our glorious Harmonium, are not only wrong but evil. They believe that no faction is interested in the truth, but only in power. It is their goal to topple the factions, hoping that such destruction will lead to the discovery of truth. To borrow a phrase from an Anarchist, “A wound won’t heal till you burn away the infection.”

Worse yet, the Revolutionary League extends its dogma to everything - governments, civilizations, races, realms, and even the deities themselves. They seek to tear down all organized structures of power, believing them to be corrupt oppressors, deserving of destruction.

Unfortunately, we can’t confront these dangerous subversives at their headquarters - they don't have one. The vermin hide in secret safehouses throughout Sigil and, in fact, all of the planes. They don’t even have a leader! The League is divided into separate cells, and even if we were to find and destroy one cell, the others would be safe from discovery. We can be glad, at least, that the cells are small each usually has three to eight Anarchists - and that each cell has separate schemes of infiltration and ruin. Most of the time, their plots work against one another, preventing the group as a whole from uniting in any grand undertaking.

New members are recruited all the time. Some join only to support the cause with jink and endorsement, but most are capable of violence and subversion. And it’s frighteningly easy to join: When a misguided sod professes a distrust or dissatisfaction with authority, an Anarchist soon shows up to sec if the basher’d make a good member. The vandals are canny, too. In disguise, I tried to discover the location of a cell by professing anti-authoritarian beliefs. I apparently drew too much attention to myself, however, and drove away the recruiters.

Though I know it’s not my place to do so, I recommend that the Harmonium encourage its forces to destroy the Revolutionary League as subtly as possible (perhaps in a joint venture with the Mercykillers?). I know that current policy orders us to attack and root out the Anarchists, but it may seem to the public that we fear the League. This, in turn, may encourage cross-traders who hate and resent us to support or join — the Anarchists.

The Revolutionary League is a cancer growing within the body of Sigil. If not eliminated quickly and quietly, it may prove to be our undoing.

The Sign of One

When choosing a faction, many primes will no doubt be attracted to the teachings of the Sign of One. You’re used to thinking of yourself and your worlds as the most important things in the multiverse. And that tics in nicely with the Signers their faction is based on ego.

Signers believe that each individual is unique, and that the multiverse is centered around the individual. Fact is, the power of a body’s mind - a Signer’s mind, anyway - is what actually creates and sustains the multiverse. To some, that philosophy is a comfort. But many push the concept to the extreme: They believe that they can make things happen just by imagining them. The frightening thing is, evidence exists to prove them right.

While the Signers are a coherent group, the faction is really composed of individuals who, at the heart of it all, contradict each other. Each thinks he is the center of the multiverse, which implies that the other Signers are wrong. And this, too, is true in a way. For even if the group is correct about the nature of existence, only one of them can be at the center.

Thus, as a body might guess, the Signers are extremely exclusive about their membership (to the disappointment of many primes). To join the faction, a candidate must go to the group’s headquarters - the Hall of Speakers - and register predictions of what he imagines will happen in the future. If the events come to pass, he’s proven that his imagination can affect the multiverse, and lie’s granted membership. (Some graybeards make a convincing case that the Signer philosophy means they really don’t even want new members.)

It’s ironic that predictions are brought to the Hall of Speakers, where the high-ups of Sigil meet regularly to debate laws, discuss concerns, and set policy for the city. One of the most raucous groups is the Council of Speakers, a loose organization of factols and other faction bloods. But the Hall ain’t just a refuge for the long-winded; Cagers of every station can come to voice their concerns (or just watch the high-ups brawl).

- from A Prime's Guide to Sigil

The Society of Sensation

What do you know? What can you know? Let’s try something: Am I standing here next to you? How do you know? Right. You can sec me.

Now close your eyes - am I still here? How do you know? Right. You can hear me. If I were to stop talking, you might be able to smell me (I smell very interesting today). I think you’re tumbling to the idea.

Now, how about a berk on Mount Olympus - does he exist? How do you know? You can’t see him, hear him, smell him, or touch him. Maybe someone else tells you he’s there. But do you really trust other folks to tell you what's real and what's not?

Here’s the dark of the Sensates: You can only sense what’s real, and what’s real is only what you can sense. To sense something is to know it, ’cause you can’t know anything if you haven’t sensed it. We’re out to sense everything, to try everything. Experience is the key. To know the truth, you’ve got to have experienced everything. Now, I don’t mean that we want to climb every tree on Arborea or get drunk on diamond mead every night for a month. We want a range of experiences. We want to try everything once — maybe twice. Sure, it sounds ambitious, but at least it’s fun. And we’ve got a few tricks to help us along.

See, we use wondrous magic to record experiences and sensations from all over the planes. We keep them in the sensoriums in the Civic Festhall, where anyone can sample them. Our headquarters is the most breathtaking building in Sigil, and that’s just the outside. Inside, we’ve got the sensoriums, of course, but we've also got theaters, classes, museums, and all sorts of wonderment.

Maybe you’d like to join our faction? All you’ve got to do is visit the Festhall and record your experiences - live to start off, and then regularly after that - so that others can partake and get that much closer to the truth. We all help each other in our quest for sensations.

Look for us as we walk the planes. You’ll see the truth in our words as we take the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures of absolutely... everything.

- Vamniss Softhearted, a Sensate

The Transcendant Order

A high-up in the Transcendent Order trains a fresh recruit in the Great Gymnasium:

No. Mican, your movements are yet too stilted - too jerky. You hesitate to draw from the well of truth that lies within your body. And hesitation is your worst enemy. Try closing your eyes... focus on my voice as you perform the exercises... make your mind and body one.

You must learn to act as quickly as you think. A melding of all things mental and all things physical creates a harmony ... a harmony that lets you be one with the multiverse. Only when your mind is wholly in tune with yourself and your bodily form can you find your place in the multiverse - the purpose both you and it have.

Now, begin the next set of movements. Be loose - lucid. Don't think when you can do. Instinct is a truer guide than contemplation. Those who call us Ciphers because they can't understand us fail to see... they think too much. One berk only thinks about climbing a mountain ... another docs it. In the end, who is better off? Who has accomplished the goal?

Now you raise your arms too quickly, Mican. Don't be a continual flurry of activity. There is a time to act... and a time not to act. Pausing is its own action. Let the cadence of the planes guide you.

Don't be discouraged. It takes much training to become a master of the heart. I remember the day I first gained that rank, little knowing how easy it would seem compared to my rise to be a master of the mind. Imagine the discipline that Factol Rhys must have had to become our master of the spirit ... to let the multiverse act through her in full ... to make thought and response one.

That’s enough practice for today, Mican. Perhaps tomorrow you'll be less distracted. Until then, take strength from the fact that you have already climbed the largest mountain: You have joined the Transcendent Order. You came to us here at the Gym and asked for membership. You acted - and in doing so, earned our respect. Take pity on those who only think about joining, for they fail before they even begin.

The Xaositects

Don’t worry - I’m not going to talk backward or in rhyme or any of that nonsense. Truth is. I’m not really a Xaositect at all, but an agent of the ... well, let’s just say another faction. These Chaosmen aren’t so bad, though. At least they understand the importance of freedom.

More than anything, they believe in chaos. Not rampant destruction and death, but true chaos. That is, utter randomness and unpredictability. Sure, sometimes that might mean riots and ruin, but other times it means wonderful new creations. Just as chaos destroys all things, all things spring from chaos — or. uh. that's what the Chaosmen say.

We at the ... all right, pal, you got me. I’m really an Anarchist, here to keep tabs on the Xaositects. But that doesn't mean I can’t respect them for their beliefs. Order is a facade nailed over the pure chaos of the multiverse to make some berks happy. The Guvners, the Hardheads they’re all deluded fools, according to the Xaositects. A body’s just got to give himself to chaos, and he becomes a tool of the truth. Not only will he tumble to the secrets of the multiverse, but he’ll be a vessel, a channel through which chaos can spread its beauty.

Joining the Xaositects is just a matter of being accepted by the established members. They either let a sod in, or they don’t, based on how they feel about him. They say that they can sense the chaos (or lack of it) in a basher's heart. It seems the best way to get in is to find a sponsor who’s already a member.

The Xaositects don't really have a headquarters, but more often than not bunches of’em mill about a slum area of the Hive Ward called... well, called the Hive. It’s a jumbled maze, filled with decaying architecture and ramshackle kips. The layout constantly changes.

Every berk in the Cage has a strange story to tell about the Xaositects. Just ask. No one understands them - not even the Chaosmen themselves. They’re not meant to be understood. That’s the point.

- A Xaositect who (sometimes) says he’s really an Anarchist infiltrator in the Xaositects

Outsiders

Not a faction at all, but the absence of a faction, the Outsiders are primes that end up in Sigil without any idea of what’s going on. Unlike the Indeps, who’re like a faction, the Clueless (with a capital "C") have no organization at all — never mind having no factol, no headquarters, and, most importantly, no philosophy.

A few folks have tried to turn the Clueless into a real faction of some sort, but they’ve always failed. Primes who want to join a faction end up signing with one of the fifteen established groups. Even if they’re not completely sold on the faction’s philosophy, few newcomers want to proclaim their status as a Clueless or a prime.