#faction war

Troublesome Timelines in Sigil and Beyond

Gather quickly, my free time is limited. I have dire and gruesome fortunes to unearth. Alleissa, the protege of Midwife Mebbeth can do more than treat what ails ya and talk about the art a bit.  Did you know I have some knack for fortunes and looking at possible events?  Don’t just take my word for it…  Gaze into this crystal ball and allow me to show you.  Why are you reluctant?  Despite this…

Mortal Kombat faction wallpapers part one of five

This is Faction War, the end of Planescape.

Planescape’s factions are its heart and soul. They’re a number of organizations that are headquartered in Sigil, the city at the center of the multiverse, and their beliefs have the potential to change the fabric of existence. Characters can throw their lot in with a faction and join the philosophical cold war – because of course the factions don’t get along. They’re all searching for ever more power to ensure that the multiverse sees things their way. The war is kept cold, though, out of fear of Sigil’s mysterious ruler, the Lady of Pain. Faction War is what happens when things turn hot.

If you run a long term Planescape campaign, I think the natural course is to have the factions eventually bubble up into some sort of outright violence. The core box sets this up, so I suppose it makes sense that the line would come to an end in this way. And the story arc is good enough, though the elaborate conspiracies wind up casting players as spectators as often as participants.

It disappoints me, overall. The end result is a complete paradigm shift from what is presented in the campaign setting box set and the new order, while interesting, never has a chance to develop, since, you know, the line was closed. It seems abrupt and a bit strange to put out one product that nullifies another, no?

I think Planescape factions work much better in a never-ending cycle of skirmishes and detentes, with the status quo shifting just a little bit back and forth. It is natural, of course, for a story, even a meta-story, to end, but it strikes me as unfair for a setting to suffer something so final.

Adam Rex and Hannibal King are on art duty, which is another bit of glum news. I like their work well enough, but it seems a missed opportunity to not have DiTerlizzi or even Randy Post at the help of Planescape’s swan song.

Author’s Note: This story was written back in May 2018, at a time when Ahvie’s role as a co-innkeeper at the Moonlit Hearth was drawing to a close. The Moonlit Hearth was an adventurer’s community village in the Darkshore town of Lor’danel, founded by Rondirin Dwarftosser. Rondirin had retired from war, hoping to find a quiet place away from the simmering faction tensions and Argussian front. In doing so, he aimed to create a place where veterans and civilians alike could eke out a living in peace, no matter their background. Ahvie had been one such guest of his.

This is not a story of how she became a void elf. Nor is it a story of how she came to gain the trust of her erstwhile (or unwitting) companions in the Alliance. This is a short story of how those peaceful days came to be overshadowed by the growing azerite conflict, and how Ahvie would not be able to remain removed of it for much longer. It says nothing of her remaining loyalties to Silvermoon or the Highguard, as it is but one brief snapshot into Ahvie being leashed back into war.

Prologue

Even in the deepest reaches of Stormwind Keep, a keen nose could easily pick up on the savory aroma of barbecued meat, exotic seasoning and fizzy ale. Or maybe the biological memory never quite left her mind ever since she and the other cadets filed through the hallways, past the kitchens and dining hall before crowding into the renovated war room.

Several heads of Alliance brass were waiting for them on the dais and around both the familiar war table and the massive representation of Azeroth pinned to wall boards, cobbled together from several parchments and maps. This was no mere policy discussion, or even a debriefing like many of the smaller talks the recruits had become used to. Something big was up.

Well, duh. Of course something big was up. The Alliance and Horde had already broken into open hostilities just short of a declaration of war. She knew this much, as she suspected many of the operatives in the room did from their own cells’ missions. Despite the seriousness of the prospect of another world war looming on the horizon not long after Argus vacated it, the pale-skinned void elf yawned aloud, drawing the stares and scowls of several agents, veteran and recruit alike.

She grinned at them and shrugged, not particularly worried about what the others thought. As it was, she was very well aware that very few of her fellow collaborators trusted her. A handful actually did remember her service record for Silvermoon not more than a few months ago, and fewer still recognized her from back when she smuggled herself into the docks and taverns in equally dark times. Almost none understood why top brass were willing to let a blood elf into the delicate and inner workings of Stormwind’s famed intelligence network.

She figured it was a the loss of so many officers and leadership in the Broken Shore mixed with the gamble that she had secrets of Horde intelligence and tactics that could be exploited in the coming war.

As the void elf sought to distance herself from the rest of the recruits taking a seat in one of the hundreds of chairs lined up in front of the dais, she spotted many recruits leaning against the outer walls and choosing to stand rather than vie for a chair. Indeed, her group was one of the last to enter, and almost all of the sitting room was occupied.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in uniform, Ahvie?” came a whisper from beside her.

Her fellow cadet, Agent Gerund, a suspiciously short worgen man both in form and uniform was giving her one of his looks.

As the others finished filing into the room and bypassing them, Ahvie shrugged with her trademark grin. She didn’t mind Gerund’s almost brotherly admonishments. She liked him mostly because she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him.

“What’s the point of getting all fancy if we’re just going to get changed again after?” she whispered back, almost chuckling.

Again, a deadpan stare, as the doors loudly closed behind the last of the operatives entered.

"You're supposed to be showing respect and subordinance to the top dogs. I don't know what you got away with in panty-land, but here -"

"I'm not showing any skin, I'm not wearing any bright colors. I don't see a problem."

“You think you’re special because brass likes you. You’re shouldn’t push your luck with them.”

“Oh, Gerry, they don’t like me. Even you don’t like me, you just don’t want me dragging you down.”

“Then why -“ he growled.

“Shhh. Looks like they’re about to start. I’m gonna get a seat.”

“WHAT? Where?”

Ahvie didn’t fashion a reply, as even their whispering was becoming noticeably loud in the quieting auditorium. Gerund watched her for a few moments as the navy-haired elf turned and walked right up to one of the empty desks at the back that had no chairs nearby. Topped with a few textbooks and quills, it was mostly unoccupied.

Perfect.

Just as the only sounds that could be heard in the room where the 'click, clack' of measured bootsteps on the stone floor, Ahvie sidled up to the edge of the desk and half-hopped her butt on top of it, dangling her legs over the edge of it as a bored child would. Ignoring the stares of a handful of cadets in the back row, she nodded at the officers on the dais.

Several of them were old codgers, veterans of the first and second wars, somehow lucky enough to miss out on a deployment to the Broken Isles. One stood at attention, and a younger man with black hair and a barely perceptible greyline eyed all the recruits with what she gathered was a mix of scruting and pride. As the keynote speaker made her way up the steps of the dais, the instructor's gaze met with Ahvie's, and his eyes narrowed with disapproval.

"Good evening, recruits. No doubt many of you know why you are here tonight and what we're going to talk about," said the stern but silk-voiced woman who'd entered not so long ago. A towering, sleek, athletic kaldorei in the familiar SI:7 uniform eyed the gathering with confidence as she spoke.

Ahvie couldn't help but notice that the women's SI:7 uniform everyone wanted her to wear provided her with a very good view of the kaldorei's ample chest. She almost didn't hear what followed.

"As many of you are aware, Sylvanas is launching several operations throughout Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. Some are undoubtedly distractions, others are pretexts to larger goals and targets that all of us have been successful in countering. I am very proud of each and every one of you." Ahvie also noted that the elf pointedly didn't look her away for most of the speech. In fact, Ahvie spent most of the debriefing pretending to be enchanted with the woman's cleavage while actually wondering how much longer covert operations would be able to remain, well, covert. Or her own, at least.

"... Several Horde informants have claimed to offer us intel on enemy movements and supply caches. Although all of us would jump at the opportunity to exploit a weakness in the enemy, you must be equally aware and cautious of the Banshee Queen's cunning. You can bet your asses that any intel the Horde wants to provide to us is likely a ploy, distraction or a trap. File a report, but do not act without authorization from your C.O."

Ahvie bobbed her head from side to side as she recalled a song she'd heard a bard playing outside the Slaughtered Lamb earlier in the week, wishing that she'd tipped the musician. Precious few songstresses left in this scarred world, might as well keep them around.

A hand rose into the air from the crowd, which the speaker responded to curtly with a thin smile and a nod, pointing at the individual.

"You there, speak."

The cadet remained seated, but his voice was surly and rounded with an accent that likely betrayed him as either a dwarf or a backwater human.

"Pardon, Mum, but what about our... ah... defectors? The -"

"Ren'dorei, cadet?"

"Ah, yes, Mum."

The kaldorei clicked her tongue alongside a dissatisfied sniff, but responded quickly as she stiffened her expression.

"You have been ordered to work alongside them, yes?"

A silence, accompanied by which Ahvie presumed was a quiet nod.

"And you don't entirely trust our newfound allies, yes?"

Another silence, to which more cadets around the room exchanged looks with their peers, some of them turning to the handful of void elves sitting in the room. Their pointy ears were unmistakably sliding down into their chairs under the scrutiny. Ahvie sighed, oblivious to the ones cast her way.

"You already know that King Anduin has ordered the inclusion of the exiles as members of the Alliance. Rest-assured that your superior officers have screened and ensured that the ex-pats of Silvermoon are both trustworthy and loyal. That is why so few of their lot sit among you today. You would do well to remember that we have picked them to start at the bottom, as all of us once did."

"Yes, Mum."

"If you have a complaint or suspicions about ANY agent's conduct, regardless of their past or birth, you should treat them the same way you would unknown information: File a report, and don't act without authorization."

"Of course, Mum."

A light murmur of approval rippled through the gathering, and the night elf continued the briefing, using her thin baton to point to several areas of the map to indicate where some agents were being assigned. Apparently the concept of making individual cells of operatives independently unaware of the others' objectives was foreign to the Alliance. Or perhaps...

Ahvie sighed, a little too audibly, and although M kept speaking, she locked her gaze onto the void elf in the back momentarily... as did every other officer. She often forgot how good the hearing of night elves were. She'd had to practice controlling herself more.

Ahvie tried not to respond emotionally or visibly, and simply kept up the appearance of listening patiently, although she didn't keep her leatherclad legs from swinging over the edge of the desk.

* * * * *

Ahvie wasn't sure how long she'd daydreamed, but before she knew it, everyone was already standing up and getting out of their chairs and filing out en masse. Some of the operatives were giving her amused and conflicted looks, while others were whispering to each other about their upcoming missions. Apparently individual assignments were going to be handed out later, with this being an overall operational briefing for the next few months.

Nothing new, basically.

Ahvie hopped down to the floor, dusting off the back of her violet-black leather catsuit as she landed quietly. She was just about to go join Gerund in the tail end of the departing agents, when one of the officers not speaking with the other brass called out to her.

"Brightsinger. A word."

She stopped in her tracks and looked up, distinctly aware of Gerund's sympathetic but 'I told you so' glance directed her way. She hoped that her ears weren't drooping. She turned on her heels and nonchalantly sauntered down the aisle between both sections of empty chairs. The other officers were still talking amongst each other in a half-circle, although M was casting a single skeptical eye her way. Ahvie turned to the instructor whose voice she knew quite well by now.

"Yes, sir?"

He didn't immediately respond, expecting and waiting for her to approach closer to the edge of the dais. As it was, she was a dainty 5 foot tall, and already the human instructor towered over here on even footing. Now he literally was almost twice as tall as she was. Although she was used to being shorter than everyone, she didn't like how they had to rub it in here.

"Sir?"

"You displayed a deplorable level of disrespect at the meeting tonight."

"I did, sir. Sorry, sir."

A bit of a pause, which extended into what she suspected what a dissatisfied silence. She looked up at Arthur Huwe and his amazingly bald head. He didn't have an expression of much of anything. He appeared to be trying to read her mind, or if he was capable of it, that's probably what he would look like if he was trying. Ahvie squinted up at him as though that would keep him out of her thoughts.

"You haven't filed a report in a month."

"I have no assignments outstanding, sir."

"None that we've given you, no. Your privateer's license does not count." She cocked an eyebrow up at him, daring to plant a hand on one of her hips. It was no secret to brass what she used to do to fill the time.

"Anduin seems to think it does. He signed it."

"KING Anduin, Brightsinger. Do not forget your place here."

"Being a crown-sanctioned pirate and Horde defector?"

"Defector..."

She sighed, assuming a more straightened stance.

"Sir."

"We've seen you working with the locals and garrisons in Northrend."

"Yes, sir."

He paused, his gaze studiously examining her as though her glowing locks of hair could provide more answers. Or better answers.

"You have not been assigned a commanding officer."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you think this looks to Shaw and M?"

She blinked, trying to appear confused enough to hide her internal gut feelings of apprehension.

"Sir?"

"Other ren'dorei have accepted regular commissions as cadets in cells across Azeroth. You are among the handful who have ... opted not to."

Ahvie was pretty sure where this was going, but wasn't sure how to answer.

"Yes, sir."

Huwe inhaled and exhaled slowly, and she cast her eyes straight forward. Which oddly kept her at eye level with his shins. She tried to imagine what it would look like if one of his highboots had its laces untied.

"At ease, Brightsinger."

She looked up with relief and surprise as she relaxed. Only a little, though. He stared down at her with mostly exasperation. Both waited for a bit longer. Ahvie then became distinctly aware that the other officers had stopped talking amongst each other and turned to look down at her. Somehow, at some point, M had sat down on the edge of the dais mirroring the way Ahvie sat on the table earlier. Her expression was as thoughtful as it was stern disapproval.

Ahvie looked at M for a moment before looking back up at Huwe.

"Sir?"

"How do you think your unique status as a privateer operating outside the regulations of SI:7, yet being permitted operative access to Alliance channels, makes us feel in this very volatile conflict?"

Ahvie grimaced, and looked down. She shouldn't have to answer to these textbooks, but she knew what M was capable of. She'd rubbed shoulders with enough seedy blackguards and uncrowned to know who to avoid the attention of. And now the legend herself was sizing her up like she was her next mark.

"... You may speak freely."

Ahvie frowned, her eyebrows narrowing. Her temper unexpectedly flared up at the chance to speak her mind.

"Why don't you ask her, then?"

M was quick and ready to respond, her silky void laced with almost motherly levels of scorn and disapproval. "You're an unknown variable. A dangerous and unreliable agent. Your loyalties have never been made clear, despite your so-called pledge of allegiance to the crown. You have no official commission in SI:7 because you are committed to no known theaters."

"No approved theaters of war, you mean," Ahvie countered tersely.

"We have many former pirates among our ranks, Brightsinger. It's not your line of work that we disapprove of. It's your lack of accountability. You're a loose cannon we can't afford to arm with anything more than our silent disavowal," the kaldorei intoned.

Ahvie just shrugged at her, and looked back up to Huwe, the other officers murmuring with grimaces on their faces. Huwe was not one to display much disdain for ignoring chain of command. In fact, it was rumored he was completely taken off guard when SI:7 had not long ago been infiltrated by a dreadlord.

"This a lot of stuff you lot already knew when you brought me into the fold. I don't understand what the big deal is, bringing it up right now," Ahvie said.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, Brightsinger," Huwe continued. "Privateers have had increasingly less and less room to maneuver and operate after Sylvanas has expanded her navy's reach to much of Kalimdor. How has business been for you at the Moonlit Hearth?"

Ahvie shot him a sharp glance, squinting, but not saying anything to that. Huwe continued.

"Embershield has been reining in its maritime operations and closed much of its borders and trading routes. Northrend outposts have all been ordered to cease trading in contraband and black market channels. I imagine the King's commission has not been profitable of late."

She folded her arms under her small chest and sniffed, glaring at him, whereupon M took over for Huwe.

"Escalation is drying up the breathing room for your operations, and yet you're still working in Northrend."

Ahvie remained tight-lipped, but nodded slightly at her, glancing between M and Huwe. The other officers began descending the stairs and making their way out of the auditorium. Ahvie barely managed to keep her gaze on Huwe.

"We're willing to discuss the terms of a trade, Ahvie," M said gently.

Ahvie turned to M, still crossing her arms under her chest, brow furrowed. M continued slowly, with Huwe turning to her with complete understanding and a lack of surprise. They'd thought about this proposal for a while, then.

"We know you're hunting zealots, and this aligns with some of the Alliance's dirty laundry we'd prefer didn't air out at this particular time."

Ahvie cut in, smirking slightly. "You mean with admitting two polar opposites to the Alliance forces."

M scowled at her, but even nodded. "We'll help you and give you access to the Alliance channels and support you've undoubtedly been lacking in Northrend. We'll even give you a proper commission within SI:7, rank and number."

Ahvie took a step back and returned her arms to her sides in momentary surprise. She looked at Huwe, we appeared somewhat resigned and silent.

"What? Are you serious? You know I --"

"Could care less about rank and care more about your freedom, yes. We're acutely aware of your disability," M interrupted smoothly.

Ahvie just glared at her, her glacial blue eyes glowing in the dimming torchlight.

"We also are aware of your unique talents and connections, and would be remiss not to want to sharpen the blade you've forged yourself into, Ahvie," M continued. "With proper training, official commisions, the best supplies and gear, you have potential to grow out of your former shell of being a disheveled pirate pawnbroker. The Alliance could benefit greatly from your commitment to its people and its future."

Ahvie continued to glare at her, narrowing her eyes further.

"Our people were members of the Alliance long before they even admitted yours, Mum. And they were unceremoniously shoved out by arrogant, unappreciative officers in its aging ranks. And then when Lordaeron, Silvermoon and Dalaran were sacked, we were forgotten. You're asking us to --"

M cut in, her voice growing more heated. "We're. Asking. You. To join your countrymen and women in putting more than words into your commitment to the crown, if not for global peace than to give your life meaning in the Grand Alliance once more."

Ahvie blinked, and then blinked again. "Quite a lot of benefits to lasso one pirate captain, Mum."

M then further infuriated Ahvie with a sly grin as she leaned back on the ledge, her arms balancing her on either side.

"In return, you would be required to formally join the ranks of one of the Alliance batallions active in the field. You would report to one of their officers, and send reports back to Huwe directly," the kaldorei's eyes almost gleamed with smiling daggers. "Your access to Alliance support, of our discretion, would last only so long as your batallion officers confirmed your loyalty and support to one of the great companies."

Ahvie's head swirled — but in the center of that maelstrom was the chilling core of undeniable knowledge that a bigger storm was coming, and that she'd applied to SI:7 to do more good than merely pillage supplies from mustache-twirling kingpins. It wasn't much different than when she was stranded in Silvermoon without her crew, but this time... this time she'd be giving up that life by choice. Giving up her crew again, joining a military company, taking orders, not being able to go where and do what she pleased...

She loved her freedom, but she also wasn't as heartless as her sister. Fyrevia would box her ears and maybe cook them for lunch if she found out that Ahvie of all people was trading the horizon for a duty to the greater good.

Ahvie wasn't sure how she was thinking about this, but she was suddenly aware that she was biting her lip and trembling. She'd balled her leatherclad hands into fists, staring at the floor in indecision.

Freedom or duty?

In moments, Ahvie was aware of someone in front of her who was taller than anyone had a right to be. She looked up in the shadow of the older woman. M's own uniform was stretched tight against her own muscled frame, but her eyes were hard and skeptical, much like that of wardens Ahvie had met in the field. Probably was a warden, still, for all she knew.

M planted a hand on each hip and leaned down to speak to Ahvie as though addressing a child still playing with her dolls.

"Well? How about it, Brightsinger? Think maybe it's time you stopped playing at shadows and started learning and growing again?"

Ahvie squinted at her, scrunching up her face in a reluctant resentment.

"Do I get to choose which one to join?"

M grinned devilishly, which made Ahvie shrink back slightly. "Yep."

Ahvie wasn't sure why that made M pleased as punch, but perhaps she had underestimated until now just how much she'd annoyed and tried the patience of Alliance brass by operating without their approval until now.

Drawing herself up as she swelled with courage to fight down the urge to run and throw it all away, Ahvie planed a hand on each hip and scowled as fiercely as she could at the kaldorei gazing down at her the way a viper might to a mouse. M straightened, looking just as smug as earlier, but expectant.

"You got yourself a deal, grandma. I'll get you that officer's signature and then we'll talk shop."

Ahvie then spun on her heels without saluting and stormed out of the auditorium, much to the almost mirthful and haunting laughter of the kaldorei in the meeting room and echoing after her in the Stormwind Keep halls. Ahvie knew full well why Mum would find this turn of events so funny. Ahvie had finally signed away her freedom for something that the elder elf knew she could manipulate.

The only freedom Ahvie had in this mess was her choice of Alliance batallions who would accept her.