A Factor's Speech

[*EM-Adimarchus]

A few hours past Anti-Peak, one fine cycle, Factor Sixthfinger addresses a group of her fellow Godsmen in the giant spelljammer workshop she and her subordinates have recently called home. Any and all Godsmen are welcome at this gathering, but it has nothing to mark it as an official meeting.

"Friends, ye lot know me.

Some o' ye I recruited meself, some came ta tha Faction 'nother way an' jes' 'appened ta like tha cut o' me screed. I've worked wit ye, some o' tha fines' gods-in-makin I've 'ad tha pleasure ta meet in me long years, fer a long time.

Ye know me. I dunnae like givin orders an' I dunnae ask any o' ye ta do anythin I aint willin ta do meself. I aint 'ere today ta give orders, or command ye lot ta do this thing or tha' thing, we aint bloody Harmonium. I'm 'ere today as a blood wha's askin yer help in a grand undertakin, tha likes o' which bards'll be singin 'bout fer generations ta come, if everythin goes right.

What I'm gunna be askin aint easy, or simple. It'll be dangerous in ways tha' mos' sods cannae imagine, but wha's danger if nay another test o' our mettle, o' our divinity?

I'll put it out there bluntly: I'm aimin ta take a realm fer mine own in tha Abyss. It be a curious realm, Abyssal wit chunks o' Celestia embedded and seepin inta its surface an' alterin tha very nature o' tha plane. Occipitus it be called...once ruled by Adimarchus, he's since been deposed an' until now no one claimed rulership o' tha place.

I mean ta shape tha realm inta a true embodiment o' tha Godsmen philosophy...a plane o' testin wha' weeds out tha weak o' soul, body, mind an' morality frem tha strong, an' allows mortals trapped in tha Abyss a chance a' freedom if they prove they got wha' it takes ta climb tha ladder we all climb. It'll be a plane o' tests an' a plane o' choice an' a forge fer all wha' enter it.

But I aint tha only one wha's got designs on tha place. Athux, one o' Azzagrat's generals be makin a bid fer lordship an 'as brought some troops along ta seal 'is claim. Defenses mus' be built ta guard 'gainst 'is comin while I search fer tha key ta establishin me dominion o'er tha plane."

She looks around at the assembled, a gleam in her eyes and a wide grin as she speaks with utter confidence.

"I dunnae ask ye ta fight a war fer me, unless ye be itchin ta prove yer mettle in swordcraft or battlespells. Wha' I do need, wha' I hope ye will contribute ta a friend an' colleague, 's buildin know-how. Help me construct a fortress frem which ta base me operations, an' tha Godsmen will always 'ave a sanctuary there frem which ta study tha plane.

Even if ye got no love fer me, think o' all tha Faction migh' learn 'bout divinity an' tha nature o' tha planes by observin this layer an' me own successes an' failures. Document me successes, an' if all goes well, ye'll 'ave incontravertable proof tha' even one wit a lowly start, one wha' begun life as a jinkskirt in an Abyssal burg, kin rise ta divinity through 'ard work, determination, an' tha help o' this faction!"

With her final words, an uproar finally breaks loose. Many volunteer their services, or negotiate paid contracts to assist in the building. Plenty present politely (or impolitely) refuse to embark on such a dangerous venture. A very select few volunteer their swords in the coming battles.

Though the results of the announcement were far from overwhelmingly in her favor, Factor Sixthfinger seems satisfied with what support she can muster, and those builders who volunteer are marshaled together and given private instructions for imminent departure.

((Factioneers can note their PCs reactions here if they wish. I will be running an event relating to this campaign this afternoon/evening in about 2 hours time))

[*Nimiane]

Unnoticed, save for those looking or with a keen eye for detail, a familiar blonde haired bardess leans a booted heel against the wall. Her presence was not an unusual sight in the workshop, despite the fact she were not a Godsman herself. Rather, she took some small measure of delight in seeing the spelljammer she had commissioned many months ago come to life. This was one of such moments, a passing glimpse.

A flash of white teeth etch a grin over Odette's tanned features as she picks up on a familiar voice, the words expected but expertly crafted all the same. She bobs her head in response to particular words offered and good-naturedly chuckles to others. With Maelfina's closing words, and a single two-fingered whistle, the bardess' hands snap together with applause before she turns to quietly slip out the door in the ruckus.