614/Unusual Company

Unusual Company
Date of Scene:	18 September 2014
Location:	Creation-4
Synopsis:	Finna accepts an invitation to visit a settlement mentioned by a strange, new type of Exalted!
Cast of Characters:	513, 569

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Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
True to his word, the Alchemical's coordinates... such that mundane numbers are of use in Creation... pay off. In fact, the Autochthonians had the misfortune of piercing the Seal and ending up in the frigid North, of all places, so at least Finna will be at home here. When Bitter Medicine said 'settlement,' the word might have called forth images of tents, open flames, and mortals generally scraping by.

Such is not the case with this... slightly-green looking place. Seriously, all the buildings look like they have a bit of green jade in them. The 'settlement' is more of a small town, and it even boasts a... well, a factory, if the Lunar knows what that is! If she doesn't, suffice it to say it looks like a building with three really big chimneys. The closer she gets to the town, the easier it is for her heightened senses to pick up on the mortals hustling and bustling through its newly-paved streets. They all seem to have... birthmarks on their foreheads, and not a one of them is without a pair of dark-lensed goggles.

A pale figure stands at the gate of the city, clad in what appears to be a leather garment similar to but different from a buff jacket. He looks up at the approaching Lunar and gives her a frown of greeting. This cheery fellow must be Bitter Medicine!

Finna (513) has posed:
    Very few creatures would go -straight towards- a human settlement without a care in the world. PArticularly in the North. Particularly a Very Metal Settlement.

    But a Snow Fox certainly is doing just that. Forgoing all trickery and subtlety, unusual for her, Finna's decided to try and make a good impression in hopes that these newcomers, odd or otherwise, can be given some hospitality in the otherwise horrific place they've ended up in. She can be quite sympathetic with their plight, especially during winter.

    She's hard to spot through all the snow, save for her nose and eyes, and to some Autochthonian gear her heat signature - which is quite cozy for the weather - and oh, one other thing.

    Whenever her fur brushes around, Moonsilver Tattoos glimmer in the light.

    She eventually reaches the gate, and makes a low crooning noise in greeting. In mere moments though...

    The fox grows. Quickly. Up into the shape of a girl who's dressed quite appropriately for the locale. She takes a moment to brush some hair over her shoulder, plants a hand on her hip, and grins at Bitter Medicine. "... Welcome to Creation. Are you enjoying the winter?" With those words said, the grin looks a bit more sympathetic. And they are in the dialect of Skytongue peculiar to the Haslanti League. A Tuskstad accent for those familiar. But the Multiverse provides, as needed.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Hi." The man with the grim demeanor offers Finna a bow now that he knows it's her. "It's okay. Brighter than we'd like." He points to the sun. "The night one's okay, though." The night one being the moon, of course. His reply comes in Autochthonic, the only language he knows. Thank the Great Maker for that translation effect! "You tattoo yourself with moonsilver," notes the Alchemical. The distinctive glint of that very metal shimmers on his jaw, but his tattoo--if it can be called that, seems more rigid than hers.

"Come on in," he says after a moment of brief silence. "Welcome to Unbreakable Spirit of the Proletariat." Strange... sounds like an Exalted name. "I'll give you a tour." The Alchemical's manner of speaking is, for the most part, casual and laconic, saying only as much as he feels he needs to say, in a way bereft of formality. The mortals who aren't on their way to some place or another point and chatter excitedly about Finna and Bitter Medicine both.

"Who's that girl with the Moonsilver tattoos?"

"She's pretty!"

"Is that one of Creation's chosen? I've never seen posters of her!"

Yes, posters. They adorn the occasional wall, each one bearing the image of some Alchemical or another. There are... notably less posters of Bitter Medicine than of others, and the ones that do exist seem to portray a 'Don't break the law' or 'I'm watching you' vibe rather than a 'I'm awesome' or 'We can do it!' vibe. Everyone here, even the Alchemical, has some kind of gem on their forehead. As an Exalt, Bitter Medicine's is sufficiently more magnificent--a brilliant diamond cut. "Assembly line," he says, pointing to the factory. "Makes materials to trade with the Union. Artifacts, armor. Questions?""

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna's forehead furrows a little at the unfamiliar language. It's far too similar to something she HAS heard (Old Realm) and so it naggles at her - even when she can't undersatnd it without the Multiverse's aid. She does, however, return the bow, and springs back up peppily. "The night one, meaning the moon, and it's in her honor and some need that her Chosen tattoo themselves with the metal Luna holds most sacred. Perhaps I can explain later! Though... with that getup of yours, I'm not sure just Moonsilver is enough to question!"

    But for now, she's excited to be the exotic, and pretty foreigner, and though her eyes flick about on high alert to take in all the details of this strange place - especially the Soul Gems - she's hardly above waving cheerily, winking, and making a few silly gestures or attractive poses for the occasional onlooker. Nothing overtly SEDUCTIVE, but plenty of cute. Cute and pretty seems to be what she's going for, lest she break the prohibitions offered.

    Directly, anyways. Not that such is her intention, but she darn well will dance with it a little just to be daring!

    Then the posters assail her. All over the place. "Plenty... aaaaalthough, the most pressing is, why are you here? I remembered, Autochthon supposedly LEFT Creation for... somewhere...." Okay no, she radio'd another Lunar who did know a few things, but she'snot gonna say that.

    Finna folds her hands though. "I thank you for the welcome and introduction. I am no real representative of my kind, but the fact is, Luna's Chosen are a very independent and wild bunch. There are plenty of small packs and groups who work together, and we all share some ideals, some who are respected more than others, but there is no one leader or authority.... so I cannot speak on anyone else's behalf. But even so, thank you for the welcome, Bitter Medicine. I'll try to behave!" *wink*

    She clears her throat. "I am curious though... that peculiar jewelry on everyone's foreheads, what kind of tradition is it?" Yeah, she WOULD think of it as a tradition, wouldn't she?

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Heh. Glad to have you." Not nearly so attractive as the Lunar, the severe looking Exalt smirks. "Simple answers first. Soul gems." He points to his. "Each contains a soul, cut and color signify social class. We recycle souls." Indeed, the concept of mortal souls and their creation was too alien for the Great Maker to grasp. "Exceptional ones with history of exceptional behavior get put into these." He flicks his diamond gently. "Why we're called Alchemical Exalted--soul has to have been heroic not once, but several times. Distilled heroism."

"Complex now. We're here because we have to be. Resource shortages and Gremlin Syndrome. Great Maker is asleep, and we don't know how to wake him up. Running out of souls, too. Our system is inefficient. More stillbirths, dwindling population. If it keeps up, we won't have anyone to serve or protect." Serve? Protect? /Mortals?/ It might come across as unusual to one of Creation's chosen, that's for sure. "Tome of the Great Maker says we left because the Shining Ones were being... difficult."

Speaking of magical materials, the primary one in his construction, that is, the magical material most present in his little metal adornments, is Soulsteel. This is odd, because he's not trying to destroy everything in sight like that might imply."

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna.... flinches rather noticeably as some of this explanation sinks in. "Recycle souls... th-they don't just reincarnate? Urp..." No, the rest of that explanation has her a bit sickened. Complete devastation?

    NOW she makes a face. "It would've been nicer if the Elders had told me of your people..." Grumble, grumble.

    Finna's still making anodd face, trying to understand all of this. "You picked a strange place to settle, in that case! The North guards its treasures very jealously in winter... there isn't much for the untrained eye to see blinding itself. Is the weather too much? Nobody seems accustumed to it..?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "We do reincarnate. Just not naturally like you do. The Great Maker's love for mortals was... greater than his understanding. Still. We've lasted four thousand years up to this point. Must be doing something right."

"Honestly... would've picked a different place if we could. This is where piercing the Seal got us. Weather is cold, sun is bright. Naturally occurring water and arable soil are strange to us. On Autochthonia, it's all... manufactured. Water is processed, recycled. Food grown with hydroponics or processed from minerals. Even here, though..." He gestures around himself, at the brilliantly white snow and the ice cold water beyond it. "We make do. We're good at that." Lasting four thousand years with recycled souls, no sun and no moon, you'd have to be, wouldn't you? "It's not all bad. Haslanti are interested in our mechanized crossbows, for example.""

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Hoho! They would be. And count me among them!" Whether that's 'among the haslanti' or 'among those interested' or 'both' is hard to say, but Finna's tail starts wagging. 'Mehanical' and 'crossbow' does sound cool together!

    "Hmmmrgh... well, I don't pretend to understand everything, but if you're used to making do where not een WATER is easy to come by, then your biggest opponent here is the cold and lack of food. Winter will let up eventually. The snow will melt and the land will thaw. The Haslanti use this time to prepare for the next winter. The Winter god teaches harsh lessons - those who don't prepare will suffer. Asking that of someone who did not know isn't quite so fair! But that's winter for you." She can only shrug a little.

    "I cannot imagine how one would live without the sun or the moon..." And thinking about it is very, very depressing. "So.... you say you're also trading with the Union? The big Multiverse one, yes? Not the Guild? And, have you learned much of Creation's politics yet? Or basically, why you should stay away from crossing the big sea that's far south of here?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "The big Multiverse one. We're fairly new here, and we take advantage of the isolation this place gives us. We know that the Realm is the primary force in this world, but it seems like people this far out only pay them lip service. Beyond that, I know your world has Exalted, but." He holds his thumb and his forefinger just a tiny bit apart just to demonstrate how much he knows. "Heard of the Guild." His tone says he's not a big fan. Of course, it never would have been allowed to flourish in his society like it clearly has here.

"Could give you a crossbow as a parting gift. Do have a question. Winter is what? This time of year?" He's capable of making elaborate sentences, but seems to prefer his short way of putting things. "Would appreciate any information you could give about Creation, honestly." And with that, he activates his Deception Recognition System, discretely sniffing the air for fluctuations in the Lunar's biochemical emissions."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Good! so I don't have to explain much." Finna's genuinely relieved for some reason or another. Either she's lazy, doesn't feel up to it, or is just happy these people haven't been fooled. "Well, that's the most pressing issue! Yes... the weather... do you have weather? It cchanges at different times of the year. Each year has five seasons, each three months long, and a 5 day period the spirits swear isn't officially part of the year...." Finna makes an odd grin at that. They say it isn't, but in all practicality, it is.

    "There are 4 weeks in every month. 7 days in a week. 25 hours in every day and night, split between the sun and the moon. I'm out of touch, but we are currently in... probably... Descending Air or Ascending Water month. Each season is named for one of the Five Elements, with an Ascending, Resplendent, and Descending month! They go Air, Water, Earth, Wood, and Fire, then back to Air. For the North, the Elemental Pole of Air is strongest, so the cold seasons last longer and are harsher. For almost half the year it is snow and cold. The snows often start in Resplendent Air, and dwindle off around Descending Earth... the rest of the year is muggy. Lots of fog and awful bugs. But if you go elsewhere in Creation it's very different. The eastern region is all forests. Many plants growing all year around, a short cold season and lots of time to grow food. All the way south is empty sand and heat. The west is lots of water, so much water you can't see the end of it. There are bits of land scattered about, but not much to say so! The Blessed Isle in the middle supposedly has lovely weather, but you should stay away."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Our ways of reckoning time are the same, then. Always did wonder where the names of the months came from, considering we have six elements." This place is also where Old Realm came from, but the Alchemical only speaks the one language.

"Guessing the Realm isn't friendly to you and wouldn't be friendly to me. Why? I hear the word anathema every now and then." Come to think of it, Staren mentioned it when he mentioned the Dragon Blooded. "Are the Terrestrial Exalts defective?" They must be, if what Staren said was true. Would they really attack him?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    "They are? Great!" Finna claps her hands together happily, showing a big smile. "Well, that makes things easier. So, about half the year for the North is cold like this. You'll want to consult with a shaman or medic... depending on which town it is... from the Haslanti about the nasty diseases that come in summer. Your people will be sorry if you don't, and I don't want to come back here and see that kind of suffering."

    Obviously, this foxgirl must be a good person, the hijinx on the radio aside.

    But then other question comes in, and Finna folds her arms. "The Realm is nobody's friend but their own, Bitter Medicine. They claim to have taken over the right to rule Creation that belonged to the Celestial Exalted, but the truth is that their ancestors killed and somehow sealed away the Sun's Chosen and hunted Luna's children to the ends of Creation. They're so convinced the Celestial Exalted are demons who stole the power of the gods and cause endless trouble... at the same time, they don't practice half of their own 'Immaculate Teachings' from what I hear, and instead spend most of their time being pompous asses leeching the life and resources out of whatever nations start developing enough to get their attention, without giving anything back. Like a giant leech. Now, not every Dragon-Blooded behaves like that. There's plenty of those out here in the threshold who have nothing to do with the Realm. But they appear all over the place, with no warning. Weak breeding, no training. Some are heroes. Some are marauders. Admiral Dragonfish is a great example of the former! Call him 'defective' and someone might punch you." She singsongs it out warningly, her tail wagging about. She's kind of rambly right now, but it's a weird thing to explain.

    ".... So, I don't know how the Realm would receive your presence here, but it's either 'Anathema!' or a resource to exploited. Maybe using the former to justify the latter, even if it's wrong."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine hms. It all pings as true. Her concern for the mortals is reassuring to him, enough for him not to risk an anima flare by activating his Deception Recognition System again. "Well. If Celestials were designed to rule and they aren't, that explains the state of creation." You can't expect a machine to function without vital parts, can you.

Ancestors, huh? She must mean prior exaltations! Surely there's no such thing as Exalts that breed. "Demons? Celestials? What gave them that idea?" If they've had enough time to form some kind of organized religion, it must have been a while ago.

Bitter Medicine leads Finna over to a large building, more long than it is tall. Unlike the others, this one has a pair of guards stationed outside, each one wielding a mechanized crossbow and wearing plated, minimalist armor beneath their uniforms. They salute Bitter Medicine, who returns it. "Vats complex," he says. From what the tribes of the north have told him about Lunars, he reckons she'd break in if she /really/ wanted to know what was inside, so he tells her. "Where me and the other Alchemicals go for maintenance, changing charms, repairs."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Hrmph... come on. if I knew all those answers, I'd've said so... well. The way the Lunar Elders told the tale, the Solar Exalted were doing all kinds of dumb and irresponsible things with their power and authority. The Dragon-Blooded like to think they saved Creation... but you must be able to tell, can't you, just from what your own investigations say? This doesn't seem very 'saved' to me." She seems a bit irritated, but just shrugs a little... and then bounds along to the Vats complex.

    Her eyes are wide with amazement and curiosity. She scampers about for a few different views. "Ehhmm.... maintenance and repairs? I thought you looked kind of metally... are you a big, living gadget? Oh... what was the word... auto... automa...." She makes a troubled face. "....Changing Charms...?" All of these very foreign concepts...

    Well, it's obvious that Finna's not very knowledgeable about Magitech or much occult matters. "I'm a huntress... not an engineer... all this gadgetry, it's common where you're from?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Well... yeah. It's a big part of our culture. Invention, creation, very important to us." Efficiency is, too, but he doesn't want to venture down that road. "That's why we hate gremlins so much. They exist to bring chaos. To destroy. And they're infesting the Great Maker. Worse, there are... cults popping up. Inviting gremlins in out of sociopathy or malice or..." He frowns slightly. This one bothers him the most. "Some misguided sense of kindness."

"But your other question. No, I'm not an automaton. /That's/ an automaton." He points to a thing of gears and brass pipes, puffing steam out as it carries several weighty-looking crates. "Difference is, no sapience, only intelligence. Know what I mean?" If he knew what ants or bees were, he'd be able to explain much more easily. He can't just say that they don't /feel/, either, because the same could be said of a Clarified Alchemical. At that, he pauses. Yes, he feels. It kinda blows, but it's better than the alternative, he guesses.

"You were on the right track, though. Alchemical Exalted are manufactured. It takes time, a heroic soul, an artificial body, and a lot of a given magical material. I'm a Soulsteel Caste, see." He points to a bit of the dark metal just above his jaw. That DOES raise the question, if Finna knows anything about Abyssals. Just /where/ did Autochthon get soulsteel from?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    "MANUFACTURED people...." Finna all but squawks in a rather inelegant way, tail stiffening and ears going full alert mode. She's STUNNED by this. "... wow... that sounds like a weird and boring way to be born, but AAAAAAMAAAAZING! To think Chosen of anyone could be BUILT..." Her shoulders slump in defeat.

    It'll be a while before anything approaches this level of WTF in her book.

    But she regains her senses soon enough, and approaches Bitter Medicine to poke at his arm. "Hmmmngh. Yes, I noticed the metal... it's not to my taste. But you seem okay so far, so I wasn't gonna say antthing. Soulsteel's favored by the Deathknights, some new type of Exalted that come from the Underworld. They're not very nice to put it simply! In fact they sound a lot like these gremlins of yours.... So Alchemical Exalted are based on the Magical Materials? Even Moonsilver?" As if cheering up, her eyes brighten withs ome new energy!

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine allows the Lunar to poke his arm. He doesn't seem too terribly bothered by it, though he does have something to add. "Well, he /is/ the /Machine/ God. Seems appropriate, to me." Does that make him a Primordial Exalted, then? The Alchemical ponders this and supposes it does, but he'll not refer to himself as such. The Great Maker doesn't hold his brothers and sisters in high regard, after all.

"If they're like gremlins, I'll... /handle/ any I come across. Seems like Creation has enough issues." He means it, too, if the way his jaw sort of... settles for a moment is any indication.

"Yeah," he says after retrieving a little pill from his coat and chewing on it. Apparently, it doesn't taste too good! "Even Moonsilver," he says with a nod and a smirk. "Spies, infiltrators, dignitaries, saboteurs. Nimble, attractive, and clever. Pretty open-minded, but quick to act."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "If you say so. Machines aren't my specialty... but I am learning. These radio gizmos are great!" Finna sprouts a big, honest smile at that. Seems that there's no trickster in her tonight, just pure honesty.

    Of course, it might also have to do with simple hospitality. She's been invited in as a guest, and said she'll behave. If Bitter Medicine's done any homework on many of the locals, they take their hospitality obligations VERY seriously.

    She peers at the pill, but only blinks a few times. "Well.... you've sure educated me on a few things. My fellows will probably want to know... buuuuut... knowing them, they probably already do." She winks conspiratorially at Bitter Medicine in a rather playful manner.

    "I'm the one that went off gallivanting in the Multiverse for something interesting, and look, it plopped down here at home when I was away." She makes a trather bitter face after that rambling... apparently a little mad at herself?

    Though it doesn't keep her from aiming some of that sourness at Bitter Medicine momentarily with a glance.

    "Well! You've setup a nice little place here. I'd love to learn more about your lifestyle, but a little chat won't coer the half of it. Do you have questions for ME...? Because I've got another one. Why did you ally with the Union?'

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Hahahaha!" His laughter is... gruff and understated, and yet also harsh. "Asking the wrong guy. Wasn't my decision. You wanna know, you should ask the Tripartite. The mortals who govern us," he says. He's clearly... of a different mind than these mortals, but doesn't seem to want to say more on the matter. "But if you want my /guess?/ Didn't wanna tough it out on their own, since we've kinda... run out of that option. Syndicate was too mercenary, Confederacy rubbed them the wrong way. Least we can agree on that."

"You ask that like you're not Union. Am I right?" The Alchemical, who previously occupied himself by staring at his boots, looks up to cast an appraising glance at Finna, brow quirked inquisitively. He nods his head towards the rest of the city, then continues along. As he does so, a soulsteel weapon that looks... something like a chakram bounces against his hip. "Residential district. Populat, Militate, Exalted, Tripartite.""

Finna (513) has posed:
    "You're right!" Finna waggles a finger. "Although, your guess is pretty close to my opinion on the matter. The Confederacy is greedy and self-centered. The Syndicate is too chaotic. The Union... well, there's some decent-minded folk among them and they don't seem like the sort to break down your door without warning... but nuh-uh. I've not joined them. Might later! I wanted to see how this weird war thing is playing out."

    She follows his gaze, and nods quietly at each spot pointed out. "This city is really organized! .... You said... wait a moment. You're lead by mortals? Even the Exalted?!"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Yes. Always been that way, since Autochthon built the first eight of us. Champions serve and protect mortals. Barred from leadership positions with any authority, sometimes hold honorary positions. /If/ an Alchemical leads, he leads by example. Not authority." He rubs his chin, trying to think of a way to elaborate. His other hand rests against his back, giving him the appearance of some military officer making an inspection.

"Orichalcum caste," he says pointing at a picture of one 'White-Gold Exarch.' "First among equals. Geniuses, visionaries, master strategists, or, in his case, champions of faith." He flicks the poster, then licks his finger and mends a drooping corner. "Even they answer to the Tripartite."

The Exalt on the picture is, in almost every way, an inversion of Bitter Medicine. Part of that can be chalked up to the artistic license, but even so--where the Soulsteel caste seems built to menace and coerce, this 'Exarch' seems built to lead, and his many acoutrements are all ivory, gold and orichalcum, hence the name. He wears the robes of an ascetic rather than the boots of a thug.

The Soulsteel caste hums, lingering there for just a moment. He then takes a seat on a strategically placed bench--that is, the bench is a measured number of feet away from a trashcan and a light, and this three-part arrangement repeats itself down the road. "Tell me about the Elders. Religious organization? Governing body?""

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Look at all the gold! Hoohoo... they really do? That's a curious style of government! Well.. well... some Chosen can get really big heads--" Of course, Finna's insinuating SHE IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS! "-- so maybe it makes sense..." But she sounds a bit stunned by it nonetheless.

    Still, seeing the position Bitter Medicine's taking... "Hup!" With no effort at all Finna launches herself at Bitter Medicine. it's a frantic, perhaps worrying manuever iven the great speed - but she lands on his lap, as opposed to the bench proper. Well, across his knees, really. Not THAT familiar with him, after all!

    If he's a little unsettled by it though, oh well, that's the point!

    "The Elders are the Elders. The oldest of the Lunars... hmmmm!~ I toldya before, but the Lunar Exalted don't have any real governing body like the Tripartite. But some Lunars are survivors of the First Age... some countless amount of years ago, I don't know how long it was. A few thousand?" She shrugs a little. "They kept Luna's traditions alive despite the Realm trying to wipe her Chosen out, and have lots of respect as role models. ... Though it can also mean Lunars who are just a few centuries old... it's not some official title. Reputation and accomplishments are the only things Luna's Chosen really value. Our laws only deal with our conduct towards one another to avoid needless bloodshed, not keep anyone organized. So the Elders are basically role models, lorekeepers, and tutors. But you'll also see the word used for lots of mortal authorities in these parts! Lots of people look to the oldest and wisest among them for guidance. Some morons run off without listening to them... and if they get killed for it, it's their fault for not listening. Something like that, hmm?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine has to believe no one would be so foolish as to attack a Champion in his own home city--especially given that the city itself is an Exalt. Well, Finna doesn't know that, but. The Alchemical quirks a brow at Finna when she lands in his lap. His hand moves away from the chakram on his hip once she begins explaining the concept of the Elders to him. It's not a completely alien concept, although they seem to be far more loosely organized than any such collective would be in Autochthonian society.

Among that society, the Soulsteel caste are known as the sledgehammers to the screwdrivers of the Moonsilvers. Bitter Medicine, as per his name, has a reputation for distressing bluntness. He weathers the explanation silently, nodding and offering not even the slighest comment or objection to her ideas, until she's finished speaking. Then, the bluntness. He looks down at his knees, then up to the Lunar sitting upon them, to communicate the subject of the following sentence: "You can do better than me." At least he's honest. This particular fellow wasn't built to be pretty. Intimidating, severe, awe-inspiring, maybe, but not pretty.

"Flattered, though. Mostly, confused." He scratches the back of his head. No blush--what's running through his veins isn't really 'blood' in the literal sense, anyway, but a Lunar can easily see the other signs of embarrassment. The gesture did indeed catch the stoic Exalt off-guard, even if it didn't disarm his blunt honesty. He clears his throat and searches for another question to ask. "Threats in Creation besides Realm-loyal Dragon-Blooded and Deathknights?"

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna bursts out laughing. A genuine chortle that just echoes a little. Thankfully, she doesn't bellow so when she quips, "I thought so. Metal or not, you're still a man, huh?" MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. She learned something that might be important. "If you say so! Well, you don't appeal to me all that much from THAT standpoint, but saying that's underselling yourself."

    She scoots off and onto the bench, but pats him on the arm reassuringly.

    "Hrmngh. Ones that matter to the Chosen, if you're anything like me? Really, REALLY big animals... angry and jealous sorcerers... the very rare angry spirit? Sometimes invasions from the wyld... oh bother..." So many things to list, she's running out of fingers to tick them off of.

    "Well, for starters, there's the dead. Some people don't reincarnate when they die. Their souls leave their bodies and that's what we call a ghost. I'm guessing you don't have them with this Soul Gem things!" A pretty astute observation for someone with so little occult knowledge, but she's quick-witted for a reason.

    "Sometimes ghosts are friendly. Lots of people depend on their ancestors' ghosts for guidance. But some ghosts are greedy and bloodthirsty and use the living as pawns, or worse, food. The worst offenders are the Deathlords. I'm not sure if they're really ghosts, but they're the big names of the Underworld and the living and dead both stay away if they're smart."

    She then ticks off another finger. "Mortal nations sometimes get up in arms and start warring over things! Territory, resources, insults, old grudges... the chaos can breed bandits and marauders, just some nobodies who'd rather prey on others and steal riches and supplies, things like that...."

    Another finger is ticked off. "Demons sealed away since the Primordial War sometimes break loose here and there and make nasty cults! Or sometimes a sorcerer summons too many, or handles them badly, and next thing you know, all hell's broken loose in some unfortunate town..." She WINCES after stating this. Apparently, she has some experience.

    "The various Spirit Courts who govern nature bicker and quabble, and you should try not to piss them off if you can help it. Better yet, make allies with them before that happens!"

    She keeps ticking fingers off.

    "The Wyld exists outside Creation. It's a sea of pure chaos. Not many good things come out of it, but plenty of bad things do! Have you heard of the Fair Folk? Or the Raksha, as they call themselves? Creatures of chaos who prey on mortal dreams and spirits. Very few can be trusted. Some can be just as powerful as the Exalted, but they rarely move in big numbers... they bicker amongst themselves as much as they do anyone else, and thank Luna for that!"

    Another finger's ticked. "The weather and diseases are the worst things to worry about if you're a mortal. Lots more people die from disease than the Fair Folk, nasty as they are.... I don't know what sicknesses run around in your lands, but if they aren't the ones from here, you're in trouble without a wise woman or someone to teach about them. Um..."

    "Lastly, there's all kinds of beasts and critters that roam the countryside. You don't need to worry about MOST of them, but a few are big. Hungry. Big enough to swallow a man whole and have room for a few more. I've acquired some forms so can demonstrate, maybe, if you ask me niiiiiicely..." Okay now she's just teasing him. Tap tap tap, finger running down his arm and tail wagging!

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine ...grumbles. He is a man, yes, but one thoroughly un-used to Lunar games. "Thanks, I guess," he says in response to her compliment. "Just being honest, really. Don't have to be pretty to destroy corruption." So that's where the Soulsteel comes in--it's just a controlled burn instead of the forest fire that is the Abyssals.

He compares notes with the Lunar. "Still getting used to animals. All we've got are rats and roaches. Ghosts are... new, but not surprising." He raps pale knuckles against the sleeve of his coat, hitting against a soulsteel plate below. His charms have... whispered to him before, and he'd be worried if he could actually /understand/ them. It does make him wonder, though, just /whose/ souls comprise Autochthonian Soulsteel, because they clearly don't speak Autochthonic, or even, according to other Alchemicals, Old Realm.

"War between mortals isn't unfamiliar. Mostly a thing of the past." It's hard to justify troop movements to one nation when the Great Maker's sleeping body could subconsciously move it miles away the next month. The gremlins and the unsafe working conditions are dangerous enough without war, anyway--and fighting in open spaces is something they'll have to get used to.

"Cults are a thing. My job to exterminate them. Be happy to help you if you run afoul of one," he offers openly. "Very aware of how poisonous they are--even well-intentioned ones." His least favorite kind, it seems.

Spirit Courts sound like Elemental Courts, who are also famously fickle and vindictive. The weather and the diseases they expected, insofar as a people totally unaccustomed to natural ecosystems /can/ expect such things. "Shapeshifting? I'm not surprised, but I am interested. Before you do--what was that wild thing you mentioned? And the Fair Folk? Seems like a misnomer if they're a threat."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Oh, don't misunderstand. They're only called the Fair Folk for two reasons. The first is they're usually unspeakably beautiful. I've seen a few. So watch out, mister 'not pretty.'" Finna points out sweetly... but then claps her hands together with fingers bent like claws... or rather, the two halves of a venus fly-trap.

    "The other is that nobody wants to insult them, out of a very real fear. Like I said, they come from the Wyld. The Elders say it's the chaos that existed before Creation did. Lots of potential, but nothing's set. Time, distance, weather, land, direction, every sensible thing we take for granted is always shifting there. The Raksha supposedly even CONTROL it."

    "... Anyways, no, you don't have to be pretty to destroy corruption, but it sure is fine to be!" Finna giggles, but it's not so innocent. She peers cheerily at Bitter Medicine. "See, that was MY job too. Something like it, anyways. Demon infestations weren't on the list... but, well... one thing lead to another." WAS her job, apparently. Isn't now?

    "Ehehmgh... well, you understand how severe they can get, at least... I don't wanna see another mess like that..." But she won't leave them be if she hears about it, either, huh?

    That's what her face says.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
The Fair Folk, the Wyld, and especially the Raksha give the Alchemical pause. "Interesting," he says. "I'll keep an eye out for them." And destroy them with extreme prejudice, of course, but that's a given. "Not overly fond of anything that invites chaos, much less manipulates it."

The Exalt sits quietly for a moment, digesting the information the Lunar so willingly disseminated. Looks like she's getting the honored guest treatment, after all. "We were able to prepare accomodations for you, if you're interested in staying a few days. Your neighbors are Seven Thousandths Infiltrator, Moonsilver Caste, and Glorious Crimson Taskmaster, Jade Caste. Taskmaster keeps to himself, usually working in the factory or inventing something. Infiltrator flirts with anything that moves."

Bitter Medicine points to the building he previously designated as the Exalted living quarters. "Third floor, room 4B. ...Thanks for the information." The sincerity rings through his gruff demeanor when he offers thanks to the Lunar.

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Oho?!" Finna's alert and springy after hearing that, her face full of cheer. "Why, thank you! I'll take you up on that offer." She seems ENTIRELY unconcerned with Infiltrator's habits and instead squeezes Bitter Medicine's arm.

    "Are you usually this grim?"

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine 's arm feels... not like it should? It seems somehow bulkier. If the Lunar feels daring, she might with a prolonged touch detect the presence of pronounced, yet artificial, musculature. "Yes," admits the Alchemical with resignation. He'd really like to say 'no,' but he's never really been a cheery guy. "But..."

"Not because I'm a slaghead. Don't mind you being friendly, just... talking's not my thing. You know?" The Tripartite didn't exactly pick a social butterfly to come and meet Finna--but maybe the other Exalted were all busy or something. "Soulsteels don't usually have many friends."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Oh, I see. So your superiors picked the person with the most insight into people and trouble, and the least experience in other ways! What a blunder. You'd be dancing down the street if I wanted to play with you!" What the HELL is that supposed to mean? There's a silly singsong quality to Finna's voice. She might not even mean that.

    She does laugh to herself a bit though. What did she say about some Exalted having big heads? Oh well. Hers is only a LITTLE swollen. Maybe.

    "Though when it comes to friends, quality beats quantity! We're not too different there. See, I don't have many ties with other Lunars, the mortals I was raised among revere me more like a god than one of them, most of Creation's more afraid of me than anything else, and only one person in the Multiverse has even tried understanding me."

    She says these incredibly ludicrous things that should be a sign of a broken heart, among other things, as if discussing the weather.

    "Seeeeee? So, don't go putting yourself down so much. Compared to me, you must have at least two."

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine says, "Experience isn't the issue." He's 10 years old! And throughout those ten years, he's grown used to the fact that he is /not/ a diplomat, whatever else he may be. "Aptitude is the issue. No aptitude, no preference /for/ aptitude." At the mention of 'play,' he gives the Lunar a /look./ Does he look like someone given to games? Of course, as a veteran of Creation, she's probably used to such looks, but the message, however familiar, is still there for a few moments before his gaze returns to his boots.

"Four, if you count co-workers. None, if you don't. Don't even consider them friends myself. Just a bunch of guys who did a thing." He gestures around the city. "Consequences to follow." Bitter Medicine gives Finna a... meaningful glance. Not a hostile one, but a perceptive one. "Wouldn't mind friends, but they're trouble. You get to know somebody, and then they get ground up in a factory accident, or killed by a Voidbringer cult. Or recruited into one. Then you could end up having to them down. Seen it happen before."

Still... maybe he should make a few friends. A /few./ He's always thought that a hunter of monsters should be careful not to become what he hunts."

Finna (513) has posed:
    "Hrrrmmnghh.... they didn't pick you for any smiles." The look has struck Finna like water dousing a fire. Her expression turns a little sour. And here she was trying to cheer Bitter Medicine up a litle.

    "........ yeah." She agrees, very reluctantly. The previous show of Don't Give A Damn was apparently just a show.

    As one of Luna's Chosen she might be in danger at any moment. And if not her, then those she cares for might be used against her.

    Finna makes a very angry face. "Damn it, you went and said the one thing I've avoided thinking about!" Irritated, she lightly punches him in the arm and folds hers over her chest.

Bitter Medicine (569) has posed:
Bitter Medicine chuckles dryly when the Lunar hits him in the arm. At least, that gesture is one that's familiar to him--Exalts can easily throw each other through walls, and that's only if they're feeling uncreative. "Sorry," he says, rubbing his arm. "But if you avoid thinking about it..." It means she /has/ thought about it. "Well. Maybe we're alike, in some ways."

He rests his hands in his lap and for the first time since sitting down, leans back in his chair and watches the bright winter sky. "Factory shifts'll be changing soon," he notes quietly. "Should head over and observe." There are things about the Lunar that... confuse him, to put it kindly. The playful demeanor is a bit grating, but there's something beneath it. There are things about her that he finds interesting, too. "Don't," he begins, then pauses. Don't cause trouble? Don't Lunar the mortals? "...be a stranger."

He stands, hands behind his back, then faces the Lunar. His eyes simply... well, he gives the facial equivalent of a farewell, however that's possible--clearly, not one to stand on formalities or traditions, this guy. That silent goodbye spoken, he turns and begins to walk away.

Finna (513) has posed:
    Finna siiiiiighs. Her ears are droopy and her tail's not wagging anymore. Her shoulders? Also slumped. Somewhat. "Hrmph...." With that mopey expression still at full bore, she aims a bit of it at Bitter Medicine, and the tail starts wagging again. If slowly.

    ".... Hrmhm... we'll talk again, Bitter Medicine!" She's TRYING to cheer up, anyways. She does get up at least, and starts adjusting her outfit .

    "Well, you beat me. I thought you were more hot-blooded under the cold exterior... you know, it won't turn out well for you if you cant' at least SMILE once in a while, right? Automatons don't need to, but people sure do."

    This girl's sharper than she lets on.

    Perhaps much sharper. "So don't you be one either!" And with that, she's off for the supposed quarters and a wave over her shoulder.