The Mercykiller had her vengeance. She had prevailed, and punished her brother, the Phantom, by purging him of all of his memories- starting his life anew.
Or so she thought.
Mere months after what Zadara thought was the final victory, reports emerged of more Plantoms in the City, one of them thrown in jail, others implicated in notable murders. In the search, she herself vanished.
Over a year later, the search continues. A select few in the City hear her voice whispering in the wind, compelling them to come find her in the Undercity. Were these voices indeed those of missing Justicar?
The psion assembled her squad and prepared for infiltration. She had finally located Zadara.
Rusty, the arcanist, would provide the group with firepower and cunning. Rathecha, the former shaman, would bring her expertise of the divine to bolster the group's defenses. Roxanna had even purchased and refurbished a duo of iron golems in an attempt to negate the those of her adversary. And of course -the most powerful of the group - Pipsqueak. Only Roxanna and Rusty knew of its secret. The monodrone was imbued with a magic so ancient and esoteric, that they were unaware of it until a consultation with Lothar: the Master of Bones. Yes, her plan had worked perfectly. She would be the first to reach Zadara's captor, subdue him, then question him....or so she thought. Little did Roxanna know that following the encounter, only Pipsqueak from would return.
Two hours later, the ancient monodrone hobbled out of Undersigil alone, searching for help.
It is no secret that belief itself has the ability to alter reality on the Planes. Millions speak out, are silenced, rise, fall, live, and die every single day in the name of belief. It is with belief that the factions seek to bolster their influence in the City, constantly bickering and fighting amongst themselves. Belief is employed to a surprising extent by the generals, spies, assassins, and soldiers of the Blood War to bend the realities of the conflict. Reality itself waxes and wanes, bends one way or another as the beliefs of the masses are altered.
It is the belief that Jach Sensbane and the Artificer were two separate entities which eventually resulted in a situation that was self-fulfilled. The Artificer was no longer a disguise or a persona, he was given life by belief.
When Dom, Trixie, Jall, Mara, Abby and Mathias stumbled upon the Artificer's Undersigil bunker, they found not only the missing Justicar they were looking for, but also Sensbane and the psion Roxanna. The trio was imprisoned, their innate magical and psionic abilities were being leeched. As they fed into the Doomguard, he became empowered to such a degree that he came close to being flayed by Her Serenity.
The motley gang managed to overpower the Artificer, recover Jach and Zadara, and turn the Sinker in to the authorities for questioning and punishment (Roxanna, unfortunately, did not survive the ordeal). What no one realized was that the Triad was not in a position to deal with the complexities of what had actually transpired.
The Artificer was sentenced to death for his various misdeeds, while Sensbane was free to resume his normal life, or so the authorities had believed. They did not listen to "the Artificer's" uncharacteristic screams of protest as he begged for mercy in the many sessions of torture preceding his demise. They laughed cruelly as the dying, mutilated man made wild claims that the Artificer had managed to leech Roxanna's raw psionic talent, which in turn allowed him to switch minds with another - permanently. No chances were taken with the body, and the Red Death burned the corpse to ashes in case any necromantic magical contingencies would cause him to rise anew.
It never crossed their minds that the man begging for his life was telling the truth, and that the man who they set free was not what he seemed.
Resurrection Mazey thought he was the only one who knew about the extradimensional chamber accessible via a portal from his lab. The chamber was the size of a small warehouse – single story. In it were shelves stacked with rare potions and tomes, cartons of expensive ingredients like diamond dust and the eyeballs of baby red dragons. In it, were also half-constructed golems, semi-defunct contraptions, and other of Mazey’s incomplete projects. Everything was rather haphazardly placed and disorganized, reflecting the state of Mazey’s mind and his lack of time to devote to cleaning up the area.
It was one of these projects that interested an unwelcome figure who walked through this secret chamber. Lumbering, heavy metallic footsteps echoed through the stone walls in a steady, ominous rhythm akin to church bells that ring during a funeral procession.
It didnÂ’t take long before the footsteps stopped. The unwelcome entity had located what it was here to take.
A twisted collection of partially repaired metallic parts lay scattered around one part of the chamber. The short, stocky human in rusted plate armor regarded the mess for a total of thirty seconds. He then gathered the pieces and started to put them together.. they way he had months ago when he first assembled this construct. Within 10 minutes, the metallic endoskeleton was repaired to its original general shape with joints and ribs being popped into their correct spots. After 10 more minutes, the final pieces were in place, and the central processer was relodged onto the constructÂ’s chest, reanimating it. What Mazey couldn't complete after months of intensive repairs was finished within half an hour.
Sparks of electricity began to erupt from the completed constructÂ’s eyes, and a barely-audible hum filled the air as its internal clockwork wheels started to turn of their own accord.
It arose quickly, turning to regard the mechanic for a brief moment. Its movements were rapid and idiosyncratic – almost feral. A cruel set of scarred lips smiled from behind the rusted plate mask as the mechanic saw his work come to life. A cold, deep, muffled voice pierced the silence like a rusted blade through soft tissue:
