The Dustmen (PWH)

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The Dead are just that—or so they claim. They believe that everyone has already passed on, that existence as we know it can't possibly be real "life." Life is good, they stress, with positive feelings, emotions, and experiences. Time on the planes is drab, miserable, and full of pain—it can't be life. Fact is, the planes and everything in them are just pale reflections, mere shadows of some better place where life exists as it should be. 
It's the true dead—the undead, as some call them—that provide the answers. These creatures have no passions, no emotions; nothing hinders their existence. All berks should strive to attain similar purity, the state known as True Death. To do so is to examine what is mistakenly called "life," in order to fully understand its absence and the unfettering of passion. But rushing headlong toward death ain't the answer. A leatherhead who takes such matters into his own hands just doesn't get it—he hasn't attained the purity. 
A splinter group of the Dustmen call themselves the Hopeful. They believe that once they've achieved the purity of True Death, they'll be rewarded with True Life. As a body might expect, the Hopeful are few in number, and disregarded by most of the Dead. 
The Dustmen're a depressed group—that's as plain as the nose on an imp. Funny thing is, factioneers don't set out to be morbid and woeful; they strive to rid themselves of all emotions. But their beliefs are grounded in negativity, so it's often impossible not to exhibit at least a shade of gloom. For this reason, it's rare to find an elf or bariaur in the faction. On the other hand, their introspective nature and thought-provoking beliefs bring many intellectuals (often wizards) to the ranks. 
It's easy enough to join, too—the Dead don't tum anyone away. But most folks in the faction never fully grasp the teachings, never reach the state of True Death. Many never even rise higher than namer rank. Those who do are called Initiates, and chant says there are a good number of undead among them. 
In Sigil, the faction maintains the Mortuary, where they prepare and dispose of deaders from every ward in the Cage. The building's riddled with portals, and the stiffs are sent off to final resting places elsewhere (many are buried in cemeteries on other worlds or cremated on the plane of Fire). Some say that work duty in the Mortuary is what keeps so many namers from advancing. After all, espousing death is one thing, but handling corpses all day long can tax even the coldest heart—until the handlers learn to shed their emotions like an empty second skin. 
- from A Prime's Guide to Sigil
Category:Sects