Believers of the Source
Source: Factol's Manifesto p.16
We can all be gods.
All beings are sacred, haloed by the divine, ordained for a greater destiny. Each time we die, we rise again to new life. The multiverse acts as a forge for us, in every life we live. As we are shaped by it, we evolve: from grue to prime, to planar, to power - and then into the unknown sublime. Reincarnation turns the wheel of existence: teaching us, testing us remaking us.*
The lessons of experience may be obscure, esoteric, unfathomable, but the one who overcomes them and survives is the one who succeeds and ascends. The difficulties of living are more than unpleasant irrelevances to avoid. They are opportunities. And the one who fails to prove his worth when challenged by the multiverse risks more than the loss of gold or love: Sentient spirits can and do descend the great ladder of evolution, to be reborn as vargouilles or slugs. Courage and intelligence are necessary qualities in the upward stretch toward the Source of all life. . .
We must become partners with the multiverse to sculpt our own beings. We cannot wait upon the vagaries of life to transform us, as people wait in line to pay their fines at the Courts in the grand City of Doors, Passivity invites self-pity and stagnation. Those who allow their agony to merely wash over them become small and hard and mean. And those who simply acquiesce to joy forget to embrace it! Their spirits shrink, and all unknowingly, they prepare themselves for a descent after death.
While gripped in the vise of life's ills and joys, we must bend all our virtues toward participation in our experience. The man who expands his duties and responsibilities while suffering and allows the pain to urge him on toward greater achievement will grow. The woman who allows her joy to drive her to new experiences rather than trying futilely to cage that joy finds the emotion has infused all she sees and all she does. These active participants in the forge of existence are preparing themselves for the more rigorous challenges prevailing on the higher rungs of the ladder to the Source. These people become strong and flexible, the goal of the ascent toward their destiny. . .
One should never give too much meaning to the forms we gain in our ascent toward our goal. Only the ignorant believe the purpose of our evolution is to acquire the body of a human, a halfling, or an elf. A being’s physical form merely mirrors one's spiritual development - not the other way around. Inner development is our aim.
Yet a profound mystery remains concerning the form manifested by a being who reaches the top rung of the ladder of the multiverse and steps off it to some sublime existence beyond. Is his body fashioned so finely that we lesser kindred cannot even perceive it? Or might it be that formlessness itself is the measure of the ascended one's triumph?
This, as all other knowledge, we will learn in time.
* Editor's Note: Many critics of the Believers of the Source hitch onto Factol Ambar's grandiose (and, admittedly, long-winded) discussion of his group's philosophy to deliver personal attacks. "He should stick to writing his little poems and tunes." Factor Komosahl Trevant of the Dustmen has been overheard to say. "He loves words so much, he doesn't realize he’s not saying anything. I'd rather read transcripts of Factol Dark wood’s Fated blather at the Hall of Speakers."
The Dustman's remarks, though rather harsh and emotional for one of his dispassionate faction, seem understandable - the Godsmen are no friends of the Dead, after all. Still, even members Ambar's own faction seem to agree with Trevant. Though all new Believers of the Source are asked to familiarize themselves with their fa clot's writings, few can make it through all three volumes.
Believers do like to sing Author's songs while working the forges, though, and his concerts for faction members always pack the house.
Forging a Faction
The histories of some factions are full of nothing but gory losses, blade-taken victories, and cliffhanger escapes from danger. The Godsmen've got their share of these episodes, too, hut they're thinkers just as much as they're doers.
Folks consider Perrine the first factol - at least, he founded what would become the Believers of the Source back before the Great Upheaval. As a mangrel-hurler, Perrine was not only an athlete but a philosopher as well; who else would care how far a man can toss a heavy iron ball trailing a 3-foot leather strap fringed with iron spikes? This blood knew he could win mangrel tosses only after much prior preparation. No surprise, he figured victories in less athletic pursuits also stemmed directly from a body's previous decisions and actions.
Not content to ponder the matter alone. Perrine founded a society of equally curious bashers. Together, they developed the Godsmen's core belief - existence is a forge that shapes us - and an accompanying lifestyle called "sequel observance." See, a body pays strict attention to the consequences of every one of his actions, so he can figure the way to produce only good results in the future. Learning from experience, that's the idea, and ability to reason clearly, that's the tool.
During the Great Upheaval, a cutter named Augy of Faunel solidified the society as a faction and forever altered its philosophy. Seems Augy'd been reincarnated a thousand times and could remember her past lives. Each built on the last, she said, and she went up or down the ladder of existence in response to her choices. Augy even claimed to recall her first incarnation and the glory that came before it "Light poured through my essence like water," she wrote in her journals.
Singing pounded me in ocean traces.
Without sight, without hearing ,
I perceived the radiance
And the music.
Such was my Source,
The origin from which all lives spring.
She introduced Perrine's society to the merits of intuition - it's usually a past life trying to get something across - and to the benefits of peering hack beyond a body's own memories. This philosophy lets a basher evolve without merely sticking to cold logic, in a process that reaches beyond death into one's next incarnation. Evolve enough, and a body becomes a god.
Augy gave the society the name it bears to this day: the Believers of the Source. As factol, she directed her followers into intense research. They collected biographies and interviewed anyone claiming to recall a past life. Perhaps this study would reveal the reason the multiverse inflicts lives of tests on a body.
While their first priority remained comprehending the tests of the multiverse, Godsmen often stumbled upon other secrets along the way - like the chamber of bones beneath Sigil's Armory. Such a room might hold valuable hints about death (and thus life and evolution), Factol Augy figured. Plus, she’d taken to reading the rotting memories of berks in the dead-book. So, she snuck in and wound up in the blinds. See, while reviewing images in an old thigh bone there, she got scragged by the trapped spirit of the fiend Fosnatu'u.
This tana'ri took control of the factol's mind and told Believers that evil acts best enabled a body to evolve. But soon a friend of hers. Roscoe, got peery at Augy's apparent philosophical shift. The good news? Roscoe banished Fosnatu'u hack to its thigh hone prison. The had news: In doing so, he sent Augy on to begin Life No. 1,001.
More bad news: The Doomguard caught the chant that Augy'd been visiting the Armory uninvited. Seems the Sinkers felt antagonistic to The Godsmen in those days - the way they saw it, the desire to ascend to godhood opposed entropy. Hearing of a spy in the secret heart of their headquarters was all the Doomguard needed to launch a rampage against the Godsmen.
The work of a mathematician and musician named Luce sparked the next vogue among the Godsmen. See. Luce said that any given moment in time and space possesses a unique, associated resonance. This resonance, though beyond hearing range, could be transposed down several octaves for mortal listeners to enjoy. The Godsmen felt convinced this "Music of the Multiverse" could tell a basher which way he’s moving on the ladder toward godhood. When a new blood claimed to "hear" the celestial symphony, more Believers abandoned their biographies and work at the Great Foundry (the faction's headquarters - Ed.) to try cultivating the sensitivity.
Empyrean harmonies became the rage in Sigil. Mathematicians in every ward started composing, as did amateurs all 'round the Great Ring. The Hardheads saw the Godsmen’s discovery as an attack on their goal of peace through conformity. Verbal hostility reigned in the Hall of Speakers, while covert bloodshed raged between the City Barracks and the Great Foundry,
While violence of word and sword still thrives between the Believers and their traditional enemies (the Dustmen and the Bleak Cabal, both of whom detest Godsman philosophy — Ed) the most significant conflict facing the faction now springs from within. Basdank (Pl/♀human/D5/Believers of the Source/N), a factotum with a considerable following, attacks her faction for placing the form of a dog or zebra low on the ladder toward the sublime, while half-elves, tieflings, and humans sit on higher rungs. As a Shapeshifter druid with considerable experience in animal forms, Basdank even calls instinct superior to rational intelligence. Many fear her notions, so dose to the Cipher ideal of action mated without thought to circumstance.
The factol’s not just rattling his bone-box, and he’s borrowed from the past to further his debate-oriented strategy. Recalling the one-time popularity of empyrean harmonies, he has organized a program to train all Godsmen in singing or playing an instrument. Students learn melodies that provoke strong feelings in listeners, plus techniques to transform these emotions into debate among the audience after a performance. The first graduates of Ambar's "Bardic Qualm Curriculum" have hit the Cage, and the results look favorable. Small groups cluster around the Godsman bards and engage in spirited argument once the music ceases.
Factol Ambar Vergrove
Male half-elf planar
In a place on the Outlands named Fayrill to some, Fayrie to others, and unknown to most an elf gave birth to a half-human son. This woman, Galina, found herself ostracized by her kin - not for her choice of father for her child, but for her refusal to shape her demeanor to the stiff formality customary for those of the Quybier, her clan, Galina loved to dance, sing, laugh, and play the harp. Not too unusual for an elf, right? But then, all Galina knew was her own rigid family. Fortunately for her and her child, she also knew which plants she could eat and how to weave shelter from fallen pine boughs.
Her son, Ambar, never knew he was poor. He slept on the softest moss by night, drank clear spring water by day, and thrived amid the beauty of the forest. To his eyes, his home seemed a mansion. He learned his mother's songs and played with fox cubs denned nearby.
The youth discovered his poverty only after he spotted Caye, a maiden of the Quybier, straying through his wood. Her brown, silken hair brushed her ankles; her mahogany eyes carried a hint of purple in the depths of their unfathomed mystery; her lithe form was slim as a birch, hut her manner seemed so solemn, like nothing Ambar had ever imagined. The half-elf went to ask the maids sire, Florien, for her hand, but found himself brusquely refused.
Ambar felr astonished. Caye would live in a wooded palace, dine on the finest of viands, enjoy the gladdest of music, and have the most devoted of bridegrooms — what more could a father want?
Ambar's mother enlightened him: Social status, political or military power, a castle built by hands rather than by nature, and monetary rather than inner wealth were necessary attributes for wedlock among the Quybier. The youth believed Gafina, but he also believed in himself. He wooed Caye without her fathers consent and won her. For a time, all three exiles dwelled contentedly in their woodland glade: bride and bridegroom in a pavilion of willow wands and grape vines, Galina in her pagoda of pine boughs opposite. The trio sang mad melodies, indulged in woodland feasts, told stories, and danced wild jigs. The news that Caye was with child delighted them.
The warriors Florien sent ended all that. They slew Galina and Caye in the scuffle and brought Ambar in chains before the Quybier lord. To the patriarch’s accusation of abduction, the half-elf replied eloquently.
"I accuse you! I accuse you, murderer of my mother, slayer of my consort and unborn child! I accuse you of killing my happiness, of defiling my home, and robbing me of my future. Dare you deny me? Dare you demand recompense in the face of that which you owe me?"
In fact, the Quybier dared not, To assuage their guilt over the deaths, they presented Ambar with a velvet casket filled with gems and begged him to depart Fayrill forever. He accepted the precious stones and left.
With a fortune in gems and the abilities of the woodwise, a half-elf can go far, Ambar guided travelers through the Outlands, invested his wealth in profitable ventures, and searched the Great Ring for a spot he might call home. He never found it, but he collected a vast selection of artwork and rare musical instruments. Eventually he fell in with the Believers of the Source and discovered that, although no place could feel like home again, a group of people could. His courtesy and kindness - he still likes everyone to call him by his first name - earned him many friends among the Godsmen and in time he became factol). He is beloved of all his namers, factotums, and factors half of whom believe him well on the way to becoming a power. Most of them would lay down their lives at his beckoning. To bis credit, Ambar rarely requires such sacrifice. His goal as factol? He wants both the Faction and its members to flourish. Unlike many of his followers, Ambar values individuals more than the philosophies they espouse.
Divinity beckons, hear the call off the forge! Let life shape you as godhood draws near.
The Great Foundry
Clueless catching sight of the Great Foundry for the first time look like real leatherheads. Their eyes get as big as fried vrock eggs, and they swivel their heads around like they're mounted on mop sticks trying to take everything in. This Foundry ain't the village smithy.
The Godsmen make their headquarters in the heart of the Lower Ward, It's a grimy section of Sigil with narrow, twisting streets and crooked, soot-covered shops and houses. The sods here look pale, bent, and furtive, most of them artisans intent on hoarding craft secrets. Visitors asking locals the way to the Great Foundry will likely get no answer. Only bubbers too long on nearby Alehouse Row'd have a hard rime seeing the stacks of the metalworks belching smoke above the roofline
The Great Foundry's two 10-foot-wide main gates never fail to impress a basher. The wrought-iron frame's as tall as most neighboring inns and houses, and each gate swings on hinges as thick as a smith's thigh! The guards here look as intimidating, too. ('Course, they don't give cutters in Godsman colors any trouble. - Ed.) And a glance at the jagged, massive metal-works (called just the foundry) nestled in its semicircle of stacks tells a body that a powerful faction indeed runs the place.
The Great Foundry's main yard looks dismal and dirty - a gravel expanse surrounded by dingy walls and humped with piles of rubble and unsmelted ores. The roaring of fires and ringing of forges grows deafening after just a few minutes. Still, the imposing mass of the metal-works reaching toward the sky lends grandeur to its sodden surroundings. This brick edifice looms a full 10 stories tall. Huge, iron-mullioned windows flood its interior with light, Equally huge portals allow wains full of ore to roll right inside.
Spending time inside this foundry building makes a body start to think Baator’d be a nice place to cool off, Fiery-mawed furnaces the size of barns seem to yawn everywhere one looks, Pulleys bigger than the bashers working them boom like giant hemlocks. Crucibles large enough for an ogre's bath brim-full of molten metal, Namers scurry about in the sweltering heat, bringing drinking water to the metal men. Some don't last long seems they decide they don’t have a taste for dodging drops of boiling steel in air hotter than an oven.
The sheet-works, bar-works, and mold-works are all just smaller versions of the huge and complex metalworks, Few smithies, prime or planar, can prepare a body to work the liquid metal at the Great Foundry.
A basher touring these facilities might spy a small tiefling woman chasing down some animal that's found its way into the works. She moves at break-neck pace and always manages to capture whatever bird or critter she hunts, calming it with a few soothing words. 'Course, she never acts soothing or calm around people.
Uh - where's zena?
Zena
Female Tiefling Planar
Zena's specialty is animals. The warmhearted factotum loves any beast that runs, creeps, slithers* swims, or Hies. Her case in the Lower Ward looks (and smells) too much like a zoo for anyone but her to stay there. Not only do fellow Godsmen avoid the kip, they steer clear of Zena herself. Oh. she's attractive enough: A cloud of soot black hair frames a face graced by high cheekbones, dark eyes, a thin nose, pointed chin, and pouting lips. She wears gowns of diaphanous gauze and ankle boots. (No one knows how she stays free of animal hair, feathers, and dander. - Ed) But Zena can get intense. Most bashers weary quickly of her speeches on the suffering of animals and her mandates To treat one s feathered and furry brothers with compassion.
Despite this ostracism, which Zena barely notices, high-ups regularly summon her to situations requiring her expertise. Someone has to heal an injured lizard that might lead to a thief of equipment from the Foundry: Call Zena. A scroll detailing the ingredients for a long-sought spell lies in a pit of asps: Get Zena. While never given the missions other factotums receive, she gets involved in many indirectly thanks to her unique skills.
'Course, hundreds of bashers work at the Great Foundry more often than Zena: metal men, artisans, laborers, and messengers. The place can daunt workers newly arrived to do their pan In the manufacture of the metal everyday items the Godsmen produce. (Basic iron items like utensils, screws, etc. - Ed.) Their best friend's a tall, brown-skinned blood named Ombidias, who takes new recruits under his wing. He's gentle and slow of speech, but strong. Despite his factor status, he always seems to have a moment for namers needing guidance.
The only reason the multiverse is a forge is because you imagine it to be that way.
Ombidias
Male voadkyn prime
Ombidias has the size, large head, and prominent jaw of the voadkyn, but the disposition of a sage hornhead saurial. He weighs his words carefully, speaks slowly, and comes to decisions only after long internal debate. The tribe he once served as druid on the obscure primematerial world of Glemayne ceased to exist more than 50 years ago, when the world was overrun by hellcats and hordlings at the behest of a baatezu lord. Ombidias found himself taken prisoner and locked away in the iron city of Dis. He survived unspeakable tortures but escaped, convinced that his clan needed him now more than ever. In Fact, all had died.
Ombidias wished he had gone with them. He thought of returning to Baator to put as many of his gaolers into the dead-book as he could before they wrote him his own page. However, his giving voadkyn nature and his druid's instincts would not allow it, instead, he decided to dedicate the rest of his life to serving the downtrodden, the undervalued of the multiverse. He left the ruins of Glemayne forever, ensconcing himself in Sigil (through which he had passed during his escape) and joining the Believers of the Source. His work with the memories of his tribe has meshed well with the arms of the faction. Many Godsmen expect him to become the next factol, after Ambar evolves into a power.
The 9-foot wood giant has a somber Face and skin so dark brown, it looks black. Draped in the deep green and black robes he prefers, Ombidias cuts an imposing figure, but in conversation he seems more approachable. His warm manner and compassion endears him to all.
Hie council chamber atop the metal-works remains off limits to namers - even friends of Ombidias. It resembles a terrace with a low stone balustrade lucked in among a Forest of chimneys. The chamber s enclosed by a bubble of glass panes supported by arching steel beams and iron mullions forged in the foundry. The oval council table of polished bronze (measuring 15 feet by 25 feet) features a central opening that aligns with a window of glass block in the granite Floor to provide the debating factors with a view into the metal-works below. Both the floor window and the glass bubble require frequent washing to remove the pervasive soot
The factors anti factotums who supervise the running of the Great Foundry have luxurious suites atop the lesser works. Namer quarters arc what one might call a bit more - modest. They sleep in small closets in the clerks' residences behind the Foundry, in the storage yards amid warehouses and piles of scrap. Their liny spaces each do include a window, though, as well as clean sheets and warm quilts. When these new recruits advance in seniority, they find themselves transferred to better chambers in Ambar's Palace in the Ethereal Plane.
Other Refuges
Godsmen find themselves well received most places they travel, but they enjoy visiting some places in particular.
Ambar's Palace. Everyone looks forward to a trip to Factol Ambar's escape: a study in perpendicular gothic executed in polished steel, rather than stone, on an island in the deep Ethereal, The complex possesses many high-ceilinged wings, and newcomers feel awed by its intricate vaulting and stained-glass windows. Gilt furniture, an eclectic mix of art, and vases overflowing with flowers appoint the rooms. Marble terraces, lily-ornamented reflecting pools, rose-grown arbors, and bowers of blossoms comprise the palace courtyards,
Ambar dwells in this miniature paradise with his factors and many factotums and namers who labor in the Great Foundry, High-ups hold conferences and issue orders to factotums here. One permanent portal in the metalworks of the Great Foundry connects to the workers I wing of Ambaris domain. Another, in the wire-works, leads to the impressive front steps of his palace.
Safe Houses. Godsmen find they can rely on a network of people for help in a pinch, rather than on hidden caves, cellars, garrets, or other normal refuges. An innkeeper here, a Farm wife there, a loyal monk, a herbalist, a castle guard - in the Outlands and on most Outer Planes, a place might fail a body, but Friends won't. (At least , not the friends of the Believers of the Source. - Ed) Usually, bloods can borrow their friends' resources too, which gives them easy access to weapons, clothes, medicines, disguises, or bits of news.
The Godsmen oversee a barmy asylum called Harbinger House in either The Lady's Ward or the Lower Ward — the chant can’t decide. The factol has appointed House-master Bereth (Pl/♂human/0-level/Believers of the Source/CG) to care for the troublemakers brought here but will welcome bloods from the faction as well.
Within the Ranks
Considering their extroverted natures, it's no surprise most Godsmen join the faction to help others "evolve" and see their own potential. (A few ruthless bashers join assuming they can easily get ahead in the ranks within such a swarm of well-meaners.) Believers hate it when berks act apathetic or resigned toward the multiverse - they'll tolerate bashers who become selfish and wicked, but not those who lack interest in self-improvement.
Role-playing the Believers of the Source
Despite their concern for others, don’t call Godsmen softies. They insist a basher learn from his mistakes, and they won't interfere in "life lessons." Sure, a body can count on a Godsman to help out in a pinch, but the blood'll never rob another of a learning experience.
'Course, some lean on the notion that these lessons of the multiverse act as a forge, while failing to recognize that this forge works equally on everyone. These bashers figure sonic sods have more potential than others, so they have no qualms about contributing to the tough "education" of those that come up short. So, bubbers wanting sympathetic handouts from these Believers had better look elsewhere,
Alignment. Having what looks like a compassionate outlook doesn't mean a Believer has to espouse the principles of goodness. Many Godsmen are evil (wanting to inhibit others' progress toward godhood) or neutral (professing that noninterference in others' lives allows the multiverse to do its best work).
Lawful Godsmen view regulations as essential in the process of evolving toward divinity. "Follow the rules, and a body’ll pass all The tests the multiverse offers up," they insist. Chaotic Godsmen evaluate all situations case by case. After all giving one beggar a free dinner might give him the energy to play a pennywhistle for the entertainment (and coins) of passers-by. Feeding another might just convince him to put off doing anything for himself yet one more day. Sometimes killing a sod is the best thing a body can do for him. Neutral Godsmen fall somewhere in between.
Class. A Godsman has two preoccupations: his own progress up the chain of evolution and the progress of the rest of the bashers in the multiverse. 'Course, no two will express these concerns quite the same way - it depends on a body’s area of expertise. Fighters think battle teaches a basher life's lessons, so they press conflict on others to help them grow, Godsman paladins believe they evolve by helping others and expect those they aid 10 offer succo, too. Rangers, biased toward beasts, frequently see their animal friends’ potential unmatched in sentient races,
Godsman cleric seek to emulate the divine evolution of their deities, yet they know that no power leads to the Source. Druids, trusting in the cycles of the natural world, believe these cycles will bring into a body's life the appropriate level of testing and illumination. Believer wizards, frequently arrogant, believe magic is the key to evolution and pity those who don’t dabble in this art, Godsman thieves think secrets’re best stolen and love forbidden knowledge. Bards know they can spark inspiration: After a heroic ballad, they want listeners to emulate the song's hero.
Race. Due to their belief in the divine potential of every being. Believers of the Source welcome a diverse membership, Wemics, pixies, satyrs, bariaur, tieflings, dwarves, and half-elves mingle with one another and the odd erinyes, lammasu, githyanki, slaad, or moon dog.
Godsman membership
Believers want to drill into members that life is a forge, shaping personalities and spirits. Therefore, to join the faction, bashers all have to take their turn at the forge. A body tells the guards at the Great Foundry's main gate that he's interested, and before he knows it, he's sweating rivers in the wire-works or one of the others, if the back-breaking labor doesn't send them running, these namers can seek greater involvement in the faction by asking a more experienced member to sponsor them.
Namers serve informal apprenticeships with these mentors, learning the rigors of Believer philosophy. But different mentors provide very different experiences: Some virtually ignore their charges, while others insist on daily lessons reinforced by assigned tasks. When a mentor considers his protégé ready for a factotum's responsibility - to seek the inherent worth in all - he presents the nattier to a factor for evaluation.
The candidate then undergoes a series of tests: unusual puzzles or challenging tasks, specifically tailored to probe his fears and limitations. 'Course, the factors don't measure prospects against perfection. They just try to gauge the malleability of a namer in the multiversal forge. A similar test is administered at Ambar s Palace To factotums chosen to advance to factor rank.
Faction Abilites
Because they believe all things have potential, Godsmen are generally well received throughout the planes. Their Charisma (Persuasion) checks with planar beings are advantaged. Also, they can spend Inspiration to make an Indifferent NPC Friendly to them until they take a long rest.
OPTION: Alternate Benefit: They begin with a bonus language or tool proficiency that you recall from a past life. Also, they can spend Inspiration to remember a language or tool proficiency from one of their past lives for the next hour.
Factotums recieve the following feat:
The Believers of the Source possess a faculty they don't truly understand. See, in the Great Ring, beliefs matter more than they do in prime-material worlds* Whole burgs can vanish or move because of belief - take Plague-Mort the gate-town that's regularly pulled onto the Abyss, then pushed out. Entire planes can be born or destroyed because of belief. And, because the Godsmen believe ordinary bashers may one day evolve into powers, they actually can. So far, the Godsmen've seen only one of their fellows evolve to this stage: the previous factol. Curran, who grants her followers spells of healing and protection. Many think Ambar'll be next.
The Chant
Been for a spin on the wheel of incarnation more than once? Bashers whose brain-boxes're soaked with memories of past lives stay shy of the Great Foundry. See, Godsmen love to catch new subjects of study and pump 'em dry - especially of death memories. 'Course, they give a body a bit of jink for the trouble, but most say the gold ain't worth reopening the dead-book.
The Hall of Speakers seems a safer spot to see Godsmen up close. Right now, the Dustmen propose a bill to 'let the dead stay dead.' They consider research into past lives obscene. Passage of their bill means it'll become illegal to exhume the memories of the dead.
The Harmonium supports a mandate giving themselves the right to destroy any primed material distributed without their approval. The Athar, with their piles of leaflets, feel most threatened by the motion, but the Godsmen don't like it any better. They figure that acquiring knowledge, written or otherwise, is the main way to evolve. Plus, what if the Hardheads derided they didn't approve of the biographies and journals of past lives in the Great Foundry's records chamber?
It's likely neither measure'll become law. Precious little in the Hall of Speakers need worry the faction that keeps its eyes open wide. But plenty rattles the Cage and dances in the Ring that should command the respect of bashers with something in their brain-boxes.
Zena just got hack from Torch with a vampire bat on her tail. She killed this pursuer at the main gale of the Great Foundry and spilled a few indiscreet words to a guard there before reporting to the factol. Seems Zena discovered a magical shroud in one of the gate-town's spires: a shroud newly acquired by a dozen Dustmen. A berk wrapped in the shroud’s folds longer than it takes a basher to fill his lungs six times is dead, never to he reincarnated. That's no shortcut to the unknown sublime, either: the sod would have no chance ever to ascend!
Another, worse rumor rises from the Dead. Word has it that some Dustman factotum stationed in Rigus has freed the fiend Fosnatu'u from his prison. The tanar’ti out for revenge, has focused its gaze once more on the Godsmen. How that old thigh bone came to Rigus (if it did), nobody knows. It’s in splinters now. If Fosnatu'u learned anything from the last episode, so binding the fiend a third time’ll prove more than a little tricky.