"Who is our next claimant?" asked Utadas Tensar, trying not to look bored."A group calling themselves the Meatworkers Guild," said Jeena Ealy."I've never heard of them," said Elahassa Merem, seeming puzzled."Formally the Temple of Light and Darkness, formally the Dustmen," said Jeena."Oh," said Elahassa. "Them.""Oh, Mystra's paps!" Gregory Holmin swore. "Not them again!""They change their name every week," Cirily said dismisively."Shouldn't they?" asked Rhys, with a slight smile.
The first war was begun by the first of the fiends. On leathery wings they rose from their first home in the Gray Waste, dripping gore and spiritual slime, hungry as only a new-hatched thing can be. They rose to devour the Upper Planes, which were then uninhabited by anything corporeal.
Tosti's hands shook as he tried to warm himself in the unnatural chill. The Floating City was never cold, never warm; it was kept always at optimal temperature by the city's anarchs. The chill, he knew, was shaped within his own soul."Today's the happiest day," thought Tosti, "of my life."He was lying, covered in vomit and other excretea, against one of the Floating City's sharp, domineering buildings. No one else was in the street.
The story began one day when Leira was visitingAzuth's home, which is also called Azuth (proving that if there's onething Azuth lacks, it's imagination). Azuth invited her over ostensiblyto talk about magic, but he really just wanted to admire her greatbeauty and hit on her. He knew, of course, that her beauty was probablyillusory, but sometimes appearances are good enough, and this was oneof those times."Did you see all the magic I have?" Azuth asked his guest, trying to appear suave. "Pretty neat, huh?"
This is a revised and changed version of the Faction War that I posted on the Realms Of Evil forums a long time ago. In it, I tried to address many of the problems that I had with the original module, to fit better with what I thought was the spirit of the setting.Faction War: A (revised) timeline of the war
Mooran Devorax stood alone upon the towering parapets ofKat'N'Ahnzar, looking out upon the fortress-city that had been her home forcountless years past. Like an endless, frozen sea, it stretched out below her,its waves forming houses and homesteads, walls and armaments. Everything looked... cold. Plain. Orderly. Even the citizens, tiny speckles that they were toher eyes, appeared to move on preordained paths on the city's - geometricallyaligned?
Somewhere in the distant past... an illithid slave world on the Prime... It's dark and it's cold. All round me is the persistent sound of dripping sewerage... at least, I think its sewerage. I just can't see anything in this infernal darkness. It certainly smells like it though... You'd think the tentacle-heads would treat their meals a little better than this...
"And so it was that Phaedrus of the Ril of the Argent Hand found himself on the steps of the Great Library of Palanthas. And, having found himself on those steps, proceeded to knock twice on the massive doors of that great edifice."