The mists do sift
  This transient rift.
A minstrel of the wheel,
​  Our stitches will heal,
Sown into the heart of the gift.

Lessai of the shift,
  The Old Code of the drift,
Guardians of the Seal.
A pierce to glare.

A spirit might lift,
  Though the seas might list, 
A weighted grip must feel,
  As in home, as in steel.
As in the gate to the broken rift.

Bury the needle into the seed, 
  And sow the future we desperately need.

Mission and History: The Severed Wing emerged out of fire and death at the turn of the age.  A zealous banner to rally the people under fealty and purpose in a time of chaos, their leadership stands as a pillar of order in history. They are the voice of the hurt; loud and militant, they boast to stand on the brink - soldiers of the fallen deity - to punish those that threaten the balance of Io.
  The death of The Weavemaster has proven cataclysmic to the planet and the planes that surround it, and inaction will only steer us toward destruction.  The only way for us to atone for our mistakes is to reclaim the pyres that drove us into the dark; our faith must be in ourselves, driven by the Rage Within, and justified by the Lawmaster himself, we will rebuild the world.
  
Head: Matriarch Saoir and Adjudicator Blake
Seconds:
  Mothers: Relian, Thoria, Nelefi, Aeraria, Mytho, Sen, Ilonos, Holly, Ella-Rose.  
  Fathers: Jaka, Horace, Faerd, Jerelt, Gaern, Archer, Cooper, Lauchlan, Tristan, Lennon, Joseph, Odhran, Macleod, Arran.  
Father Arkham (deceased);  Father Striade (deceased); Father Tobias (exiled); Father Ventus (exiled); 
​Zealots: 58
Compliment: 800
Headquarters: The Winged Citadel - Stormwrack
Notes: This scribe writes these words with skepticism, as none of the Lost Pantheon have ever appeared to denizens here in the Storm's Bastion, the platitudes of this faction are based upon, well, blind faith.  The obvious trope represented is, of course, that the creature believed to be the entity of magic and the tempest was the one to have fallen, hence the state of the world, but there is no tangible proof.  It is just as likely that these banners and statutes are merely a vehicle to commit violence, as demonstrated by recent events.  While the Blades hunt down the remaining Zealots in the streets, this scribe loses little sleep in regards to the severance of this particular faith, as their methods leave much to be desired by those under their scrutiny.  But, as always, time will tell.

Mission: When the world broke, it shattered.  Its shards rained down upon the people of Io, and the knives of our consequences crushed so many.  Yet, the cosmos smiled - a confluence of light and warmth to carry the people once again.  But no entity on its own could carry such a weight, so by Jenora's grace, we, the Confluence, bring forth an alliance of faith.  A Trinity of Suns, held aloft by the Four Pillars of the Alliance, we shall weather the Storm with poise and warmth.  Come and rest by our hearthstone.  You will be welcome.
Head: Lightbringer Ilvana Orshia
​Seconds: None
​Compliment: 700
​Notes: There was a moment in this scribe's life where I was befallen by hunger and blight, and it was the Confluence that saved me.  Their homogenous robes of white and gold, even their strange winged apparati, are all symbols of hope.  The help they give is often thankless, and anonymous, and if by Pelor's light, or Kord's strength, or Sarenrae's redemption...no matter your faith, absent or present, they care not.  Ask, and you will be helped.  With the Citadel taking flight and the Matriarch silent, the Confluence's consistency will be something the entire city will need.  Look for the wings in the crowd.

Mission: A city is bleeding, slow rivers of denial running down the ramparts of our desire, pooling in the mists of mythos and whispers.  Here, the darkness growls, and the Raven watches.  Its talons sharpen, its prey shrinks away, and in a flash of feathers, the lesser walk in peace, none the wiser.
Head: Seeker Hendragon Marina
​Seconds: Vagrance Keana Orowind; Loremaster Ruse Rosa
​Compliment: 300
​Notes: this scribe has yet to witness the Spires at work, but their presence in the recent events is unnerving.  A secret police powered by the abhorrence of undead and unnatural beings sounds good on the surface, but the Storm's Bastian is too often a haven for those entities seeking to rally against their nature.  I fear the lens through which such fervent oaths are viewed, and how such cracked glass may skew the vision.

Humbly submitted,
Sylvestris Antoine