Weaving threads of Chaos

Since the death of their Queen at the hands of the interlopers, lost and unsure ChaosWeavers have been staggering about the city, searching for a purpose and a leader, knowing only that the seed of rage taking root inside of them will begin to grow, and grow fast.

A susurrus of whispers is echoing through the streets of Ravenloss, calling to individual ChaosWeavers and groups alike, enticing them into the shadows, where secrets and plans are being made.  Passed from soldier to noble, artisan to guard, what two weeks ago was a scattered, broken nation has formed into an army of warriors bent on the destruction of those who have violated their race: the greedy Spirit and the SoulWeaver, the Hero, the Spy. Enemies of the Nation, enemies of each other.

The urgency of the whispers bores into the hearts of each ChaosWeaver who hears them.  The message, passed from warrior to warrior, is this:

There is no meaning to the adage "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."  The ChaosWeaver Nation has no friends. The ChaosWeaver Nation has no leader.  But each ChaosWeaver is a warrior trained and a hero born. We will fight until those who have wounded our Whole are rent into pieces, good only as carrion to feed scavengers.  Our race will rise again.  We will take down those who would hold us back; we will climb over their corpses until we reach the AboveGround.  We will take back Ravenloss, and then we will soar higher until we are dancing under the open skies as their cities burn. The battle is for our city. The war is for our Nation!

The shadows suffocating the dark undercity were once empty, stretching tendrils of inky black towards any point of light hapless travelers might dare to bring below the surface.  But now, oh now, the shadows are filling, and they are filling rapidly. Filling with the sounds of a frenzied Nation poised to rage into action.