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Bloody Revelations     You were told before that you'd be going up north for this particular pick. As a result, it's cold. It's pretty damn cold. When is going 'up north' ever not cold, really? Anywhere 'north' is always freezing. Even in spring though, this place is basically one step south of a taiga belt, with the frost still deep in the ground, snow crunching underfoot as much as brittle yellowed grass, and most trees to be seen rapidly becoming the needle-bearing kind. The odd sight of an animal is usually a rabbit or fox still in its winter coat.

    The method of transportation here is at least pretty simple and convenient. The hostile, frigid-ass North is split from its middle center --the city of Whitewall that will be visited soon-- all the way down to the southern coast by a single, continuous, perfectly straight road 20 meters across, constructed of bizarrely immaculate white granite and which is perpetually warm to walk on, as if the midday sun were shining on it all day. No real snow or ice seems to gather on it, and it easily crosses streams and cuts through hills, making for a safe, comfortable, straight run from the coast up five hundred miles to Whitewall.

    Of course, nobody's walking that far today. Out of the two issues threatening Whitewall, and civilization in the north by proxy, the Fair Folk are obnoxiously close by and will require working with the city proper, and the other is the shadowland only a hundred miles down the road from the gates, called Marama's Fell. The latter is the one being checked out first, and it's basically a couple of hours on horseback if nobody has any better options (the stables are happy to loan horses to people who claim to be on that particular problem, and who don't look like country rubes or barbarian raiders).

    It's not hard to tell when the place has been reached. It's also not hard to tell why it's called a shadowland either. The patches of grass to either side of the road starts to go from simply withered by winter, to withered as if strangled by weeds, and the drifts white snow are slowly replaced with stretches of black ice. The sky clouds over as if for approaching inclement weather, but then the clouds cease to move completely, darkening the further you go forwards while also remaining completely static. The cold gets worse, both in the sense of getting colder, and ceasing to have anything to do with exposure, settling into the bones.

    It isn't long until the air itself feels entirely wrong; tingling and sterile and moving 'the opposite way' somehow. At this point, stepping off the road puts one entirely into the zone of where the Underworld overlaps with reality, and looking back at the road you've come off of, one can now only see a massive wall of blazing white light, fuzzy and indistinct, and seemingly impassible.

    There isn't anything particularly close to the road, aside from large collections of tiny roadside shrines that appear to have been intentionally desecrated or destroyed, bereft of offerings. Further ahead, to the east, from the north-south road, all sight of trees completely disappears, and one wanders into an obviously artificial clearing that seems to go on forever, razed forest now choked with 'dunes' of ice and flakes of frost blowing in no wind, eerily quiet save for the sound of unseen scuttling and the off-kilter cries of ravens. Far up ahead, there seems to be signs of a camp, and beyond that, signs of a Camp. The former is the kind of temporary sprawl where people might live. The latter is the sport of near-prefabricated complex, made up of almost modern concrete and iron, that prisoners are kept, or populations are 'relocated' to.
Corona Arclite Corona Arclite fortunately has a built in fur coat! Abiet, it's a pretty short haired one, so she's also opted to swap her usual duster for a long coat with actual sleeves, and no shortage of warmth thanks to Hopalong's internal furnance while he's collapsed on her back like a travel pack. It seems to be enough to at least keep her operational even if not perfectly comfortable. There's something about the cold as they travel that feels... off. Like heat in itself won't be enough to completely chase the chill from one's bones.

Suits how dark and depressing the scenery is turning, that much is for certain. With a snort she adjusts the goggles she's wearing to keep the snow and frost out of her eyes. "Ah'd make a snide remark about how these jobs are never on some comfortable beach, but with muh luck, even if they were it'd be invaded by some monster kraken or what not."
Tomoe Tomoe had got quite the beating from Vergil and had mostly recovered but some of it had got past her avatar and left injuries on her physical body. She's got a job to do and will not back out so here she is, and once more they are heading north. It's cold, it's kinda like a northern Canadian or Alaskan spring really. She's very glad she can fly when needed to though with the road she would have been happy enough to walk if needed, thankfully though? They don't have to walk that far today. She wondered how things have been here since she was last in the city. Tomoe would end up choosing to fly the rest of the way through she would thank the stables for the offer of the horse, however.

Now things are getting colder and colder it's a Shadow Land all right and she had hoped to never visit another one, yet? That seems to be a wish she's not going to get and it's of her own doing.

"Someone or someones have been pretty keen to wreck all the shines along the way here."

She notes and would do her best to not be too direct in questioning about strange goings-on or the fair folk givne she could hazard a guess people would be damn well afraid and for good reason. If her own world myths about them were remotely at all like Creations? The Fae were no laughing matter, and the point she's a Salamander technically is so lost on her too.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga is used to cold. That doesn't mean she likes it. She does, however, know how to prepare for it. Astride her grey horse, she's swathed in a blue fur lined cloak, clasped with an ornate silver pin in the style of gripping beasts. She has on her best boots, warm gloves, and a fur hat, the thick white braid of her hair pulled over her shoulder. Beneath, a peek of more wool fabric from her dress, because even in a frozen wasteland the Seer can't abide /pants/. Her walking stick is held in one hand along with the reigns as the wisewoman watches the scenery pass, thoughtful.

When they reach the shadowland, Inga's mouth quirks upward slightly. "Usually, I have to die to get to the underworld. This is a bit easier," she comments. The desecated and abandoned shrines have her frowning, and for a few moments she contemplates making an offering. But as she is a stranger to this place, she decides against it for now. "Mmm," she replies to Tomoe, "I wonder why--and which being these shrines once belonged to." Looking further ahead, the camps are spotted. "I suppose that is our destination," she says, gesturing toward the camp ahead.
N'Raha     For once, Raha missed the explanation as to why they're here. He misses a lot of things, really, but when you need muscle, a handsome cat, or both, sometimes you call in a ringer. Also, This Particular Ringer usually comes at the side of Inga, anyways.
    That said, he's here on his Chocobo tonight, alongisde Inga and with Tomoe. He's not /yet/ in his armor, though his axe is hanging from it's strap on his back, his woolen sweater and hat suplimented by an extra longcoat.
    He clicks his teeth, though, seeing the 'camp'. That looks all to familiar to someone who's used to fightign the Imperium. "Ghh. This is like Cartenau and Ala Mihgo all over again." He hauls on the reins of the green bird he's riding, and looks to his partner. "Are you getting any really bad vibes here, or is it just me?"
All-Seeing Eye      A hoverbike pulls up. Thrust generated by the purple jets of plasma blow up a cloud of fine white snow, clearing a circle of hard earth when the vehicle comes to a stop. It powers down with a whine of engines, lowering to the ground. One black synthetic leather boot with what appears to be fur lining touches the ground, followed by another. Tucked into each boot is a long, slender leg, protected from the elements by the tough grey fabric of a standard-issue jumpsuit. Two hands, covered by synthetic leather gloves, pull close a heavy black longcoat, with fur lining which matches the aforementioned boots. Well... they don't quite pull it close--it's more like they snap the lapels.

     Those hands take hold of the handlebars of the idle vehicle, which promptly folds into itself, shrinking in a series of whirrs and clicks until it seemingly disappears into the palms of the figure's outstretched hands. All-Seeing Eye reaches up and fixes the angle of the matching ushanka placed upon his head. The front bears the national emblem of Claslat, a hammer striking a forge with a stylized spray of sparks radiating from the point of impact.

     As he steps through the threshold into the Shadowland, Eye's warm skin tone drains into a statuesque shade of pure white, and his Soulsteel augmentations rise up from out of his skin as if submerged in water. Within the space of a few seconds, he's gone from a particularly beautiful man to a particularly beautiful cyborg, perhaps like the sort that one would see upon the cover of some sort of cyberpunk romance novel. The glossy black metal frames his face like the practiced work of a master sculpter, each augmentation a prime example of masterful work with a notoriously stubborn material. He gingerly sweeps a lock of his raven hair aside.

     There is a moment wherein he gazes upon the shrines with something like resigned disappointment. He holds up a hand, a bit dismissively, to those around him. There is a faintly audible mechanical whining sound, accompanied by equally faint clicks as the sophisticated visual augmentations zoom in on the prison. Eye attempts to pierce the walls of the complex with his sight, if he's able. Whether he's able to or not, he tries to use his vision to pick out patrol routes of any guards which might be there, or potentially advantageous entry points.
Empty Tidings Let's get this out of the way straight off: Empty Tidings kind of hates the North.

It comes primarily from the fact that she's from the South and East, living in a place with a lot of warm weather, liquid water, and buzzing insects. The North has none of these things, instead opting to be cold, frozen, and full of fuzzy things with lots of teeth. Basically it's like if you took all the worst parts about the deep West and added both too much and not enough hair.

She's dressed a little more sensibly for the environs, trading light Tengese silks for a slightly heavier variety and a layer of fur to blend more neatly with the locals. Her long, black hair is gathered in a braid at the nape of her neck, held in place with dark metal sticks. She's opted for pants for a change, too, though she's not terribly happy about it, and the reddish leather of her gloves goes well with the patterns of the same color over the black and charcoal colors she otherwise wears. It isn't exactly winter camo, but there are limits to one's patience with barbarian ideas of style.

"The West is better for beaches," Tidings asides idly, trudging through the snow and ice of the Shadowland. "Sea monsters, too." She glances at the shrines, but pretty much dismisses them out of hand. It's what she expects here. "Let's go make some friends, shall we?"

Tidings goes to do that at the camp. She's not being particularly stealthy about it, but she left her borrowed steed some ways back. Dealing with an animal in a Shadowland is more trouble than it's worth, in her mind.
Roxas One of the good things about the Corridors of Darkness is that they lead into dark places. The nature of a Shadowland /is/ to be a dark place, and so-- Roxas simply steps out of the Corridor into the familiar gloom. It's the first time he's quite been to a world like this, and the whole 'outside' of it feels more like the Corridors themselves than the surface world usually does. He wonders if he didn't come all the way up out of the UG, but realizes at once that he must have. There's no place else to go from here, at least not that he can tell peeking back inside the swirling vortex of darkness from which he emerged.

"This place is kind of strange, isn't it? I mean, sometimes these come out in nice graveyards but this is... um..." He waves a hand into the surroundings for his companion. It's not exactly unique, he supposes, but the oddity is -- again -- that it's up on the surface this way. It feels like there's farther /down/ to go, but...

Roxas glances down at his feet. It's certainly true that there's something else down there. It pulls and tugs at him and he knows even before really focusing on it that it's not something that he wants to actually get nearer to.

"... /That's/ pretty scary." He points at the ground, without further explanation.
Runa     Runa dismounts from the horse that she had borrowed, tieing it to the closest tree she can find to the road. Probably one of the last, given the barren look of the icey land they're going into. She doesn't want to take the horse in any further, lest the poor creature be caught by whatever evils the group is here to face.

    Runa begins to walk in the direction of the camp and the Camp. She rubs her hands together and breathes into them as she moves. She's wearing her usual priestess robes, but has supplemented them with a thick coat to help withstand the cold. Although only to some degree as she laments, "It's colder than a Lutie winter here." Of course, it may just be the more barren and shadow-stricken nature of this land that emphasises its cold.

    Runa nods along with Inga's assumption, "We should be careful. This appears to be a land touched by evil. There is doubt that any who would reside here are completely free of its influence... If any even do." No doubt they'll find out as they approach the camp.
Gawain Gawain has a special tie to the area, after the adventure he had here. Dressed in a thick coat over his armor, the Knight of the Sun has borrowed a horse from the stables, and has rode it up to the Shadowland. It spooks when it reaches the area, forcing the knight to calm it, and then leave it not far from Tidings'. The knight straightens his coat as he steps off, speaking to the others with optimism. "Well! Looks like people have set up camp here...but there's also a prison camp ahead." Noticing Eye start focusing on the prison, Gawain steps up towards him, and glances to the others.

"If that is a prison, it's likely one of their bases of power. We'll want to deal with it with haste!" Though, before marching on it, he needs Eye's intel, first.
Staren     Staren still isn't 100% sure Bloody Revelations' plan will work -- even if it does though, that doesn't mean he shouldn't do anything to stop people from suffering between now and then!

    Besides, more information about how to kill rakshas is always useful -- it's not that Staren /enjoys/ killing them, but they're a danger to people wherever mortal and raksha meet.

    Shortly before the party reaches the shadowland, something rushes through the sky, followed by a sonic boom. By the time they've arrived at the edge, Staren's landed and changed into his armor. Staren nods in greeting to those he recognizes, Corona, N'Raha and Inga get a "Long time no see! How've you been?"

    He flies the rest of the way into the shadowland alongside them, astride a flying broom. The feeling of Creation's Underworld is familiar by now. One day he'll find a way to manipulate this essence...

    "To deny the gods their worship, probably, and encourage worship of some ghost instead."

    He scratches the chin of his helmet. "I'm down for a prison break, but we might want to take a look around first, and find out what kind of opposition we face. We won't do much good if we free people only for them to be cut down by some undead horror before they can escape."
Xion Corridors of Darkness that let out into 'just darkness, all the time' is pretty wild, even for Xion. A land of nothingness and entropy and death.

"Yeah, Roxas." Xion agrees, nodding as she loosens the strings on her hood to allow a bit better range of motion of her head rather than the confined turn-your-whole-body-to-see-the-bottom-3/4ths-of-things amount a fully drawn Cult Coat restricted her to.

"It's like if Twilight Town, or the World that Never Was was even drearier. Heck..."

Xion lifts her hands, up towards the sky, holding them in a heart shape, fingers curled and thumbs straight. "Just imagining a big grey heart in the sky almost makes it all line up."

"Almost."

"Do you think there's going to be a big tornado of skellies? Or a big spooky ghost? The ninja guy I talked to to get this mission said there'd definitely be keys in it for us if we helped out, and he sounded 'pretty legit'."

Xion's idea of Pretty Legit being heavily suspect, but at least Nazri had said he'd hook the kids up with any Key or Key Related Info he had, which was enough for the Organization member. "So we just go in and save people, then?"
Bloody Revelations     All of the horses spook reaching the edge of Marama's Fell. Even trying to keep a war Chocobo off the road is a bit of a nightmare. For whatever reason, animals in general hate it, which leads to the question of what's making animal-ish noises. There are at least some nice carved pillars every 50 meters along the road or so if one wants to tie a horse like Gawain, though what their big crystal crescents were originally for is unsure.

    Without local knowhow, it's very hard to tell what the shrines were for. With it, they seem to be a collection of dedications to various gods of crops and harvests, births and marriages, fertility and health, good weather and the like, as if stubbornly erected on the border of the shadowland in mockery of it, and then destroyed during the winter when nobody walks the roads. In fact, the number of shrines seems to include several 'generations' of them, some obviously much older than others, and repaired several times.

    The Camp is a fair bit further than the camp. Scanning it shows that it seems to be totally abandoned, and worn down with age and the brutalities of winter. Cracks have widened year after year with the melting and freezing of water, iron has rusted to near nothing in places, exposing skeletons of what appears to almost be jade rather than steel or rebar. There are obvious fenced in labour areas --a quarry, in this particular spot-- and detention buildings, as well as barracks with completely rotted out beds, and a medical building that looks every bit like a blood-streaked haunted hospital, at least most of the equipment oddly still intact.

    There is a singular building that looks to be relatively habitable and comfortable, in pristine condition compared to the others. There are also a huge number of obvious, albeit unmarked, mass graves, as well as uncovered trenches filled with bones, scorched fields filled with charred ashes, and buildings that look *uncomfortably* like the shower rooms of Auschwitz. The whole area reeks of fear, hatred, despair, and death, and is only nominally scattered with hints and clues as to its previous occupants, partially in the form of personal possessions of what might have been staff, and in the form of . . . oddities, in amongst the bones.

    The camp is a different affair than the Camp. As sigh-inducing as it is to go from shadowlands back to another shadowland, this one has yet more surprises from the previous. A mess of tents of stretched skin and fur over stark white, dead birch and bleached bones (some of it human) piles out from little fires of eerie, smokeless green flame. Thick black iron crates of supplies are strewn across the field alongside obvious weapons and huge sacks of salt, as well as fences of barbed black wire, muddy trenches dug eastwards, and rickety small towers using ramshackle combinations of wood and bone. There appears to be nothing in the way of food at all, especially by smell, only that of meltwater.

    There are people here, obviously. Zero of them are human. It seems like every single one of them is some kind of wild, uniquely built mutant, actually. Creatures with four arms, creatures with spined bony skin, blinded winged humanoids, bald and pallid ten foot tall, black-eyed men; the list goes on. There is even some sort of golem apparently made of ceramic, and an extremely finely articulated automaton made of a million pieces of tarnished brass and some black metal. Almost all of them are armed, and the camp has the general air of a somber, disgruntled war party.

    It also seems like all of them are wounded, displaying visible burns, gashes, shot wounds, bloodstains, or exposure to chemical attacks. On second glance, all of these wounds *should* be fatal. There are beings sullenly sharpening swords who have blood-soaked holes through their necks.
Roxas "I don't know... at least those places feel like they're not trying to stop existing." Roxas replies to Xion, kicking at the barren ground beneath him. His only response to the question about a TORNADO OF SKELLIES is to take a deep breath and sigh with incredible, exaggerated heaviness. He shakes his head, "I hope not. I've dealt with enough tornadoes to last a lifetime already. And it'd be worse with skeletons, I think. They're pretty solid, at least Noise are sorta... ectoplasmic."

He pulls his own hood back, because it's already gloomy enough in this place. It's cold enough to warrant the hood though, and he wishes he brought one of the /cold weather/ cultist robes instead. Roxas considers Xion's question, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully, "I dunno... he was /your/ weird ninja guy, you know. I wasn't really paying that much attention."

"Who are we supposed to be rescuing, anyway? All I see over /there/..." He nods towards the semi-distant Camp, "is a bunch of guys fresh out of a fight. They don't look like they need rescuing to /me/..."

Roxas runs a hand through his hair, awkwardly, "And everybody on local chat is arguing like Larxene and Xigbar at the end of one of Luxord's poker games..."

"Pretty sure anybody who uses something called a 'soulbreaker orb' is the one we don't want to be involved with, though..."
N'Raha     Raha, for his part, waves to Staren before his linkpeal explodes into philosophy. He winces a bit, and grumbles something about 'pray returning', as he dismounts his Chocobo... which dutifully fanishes in a cloud of aether and feathers. He sighs, pulls Bravura from his back, and walks down and past the rest of this... Camp.
    And he pointedly tries to ignore The Camp. No, he wants to death with the living today. Or the 'akin to living'. A glance back to see where Inga, is, before he's shuffling down into 'the other camp'.

    He does have his axe out, though he's advancing not in a battle ready manner. The heavy blade is rested on his shoulder in an easy manner as he approaches, and tries to suss things out. "Ah, ahoy there! You all look like you're doing poorly. Need any help?"
    
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga looks toward Runa and frowns briefly before reaching into the pouch. She pulls out her extra pair of kidskin gloves and tosses them toward Runa. "You will get frostbite if you are not careful," she warns.

Inga looks to Raha, nodding, then back to Runa and Tomoe. "It feels like the inbetween. The grey land. It is not a comfortable feeling, but you get accustomed," she offers with a shrug. She's spent a bit too much time in an underworld type of place, and she doesn't seem at all put off by it.

When Staren arrives in typical Staren fashion, she has a smile and a nod for him. "Yes, we must catch up soon," she replies to him, before waiting for hand down from her sadle. She'll leave her horse with the others. Annoying, because she walks slower than the others, leaning on her walking stick as they move forward.

She hands N'raha a sandwich before he goes on ahead. She tries to keep up, her frown deepening as she sees the inhabitants of the camp. "I do not think the people of this camp are strictly 'alive'," she comments. Not entirely surprising, of course.
Tomoe Tomoe did have as history in the region and she might be spotted she still thinks of the Bull of The North sometime and the fate of him and his circle. It all started for her here and has left some serious consequences lucky for the entire world.

Tomoe frowns from radio conversation given the falling out she had with the Starbounders over her finding out they were aiding Bloody Revelations? Staren's even more complicated and it's going to need time to process as right now she's not locked in a life or death fight with Staren. She attempts to push it out of her mind for the moment and to focus on the job at hand. Its maybe for the best Tomoe did not check out The Camp first and went for the camp.

Still gaggles of mutants was not what she was expecting it felt like some oddball VR chat program. Then the warlike nature of the camp are strange, freaky and some look like they have wounds that should be fatal what the heck is going on here?

She'll speak up at this point "What seems to be the problem here you all seem to have been through hell."
Xion "And tornados of Heartless are just kinda... It's like a pillowfight with Larxene and Xigbar, or Vexen." Xion agrees, watching the dead winter dirtclump Roxas kicks plopping uselessly a short distance down the path.

So, brutality only limited by how soft and pliant the thing being swung at your head at superhuman speeds and force.

The question of who they're here though, and who they're supposed to save, has no concrete or satisfying answer from Xion. Instead, he, and anyone else paying attention to the two cult kids gets an "I'unno. The ninja guy was pretty insistent we had to do things to make sure bad stuff didn't happen. Breaking souls seems pretty bad, so..."

Xion steps up as Raha goes 'hoy there!' and raises a black-gloved hand to wave excitedly. "Hello! My friend knows healing spells, if you're hurt! Why're you all so beaten up?"
All-Seeing Eye      Eye's vision returns to its normal magnification as Tidings approaches the prison proper. She's one of a few people who have earned both his trust and his confidence, and despite his earlier hand signal, he makes no effort or complaint to stop her advance. He does offer Gawain and Staren a few words of advice, spoken loud enough for anyone else to hear and take advantage of them. "One step ahead of you, Staren, dear," says the Alchemical.

     To wit: "It's an internment camp," he says. "But not for re-education--it appears to have been constructed for psychological warfare purposes, wringing labor out of its occupants and gradually working them to death. It's both unpopulated and unguarded. The inmates have long since been buried in mass graves," he says, gesturing to a point in the walls of the complex where the aforementioned graves are located. "And the administration is nowhere to be found."

     The camp-with-a-lowercase-c draws more attention from him. "That," he says, pointing to the arrangement of things-which-should-be-dead, "Is where we should focus our attention." He nods in response to Empty Tidings' warning over the radio. Eye keeps his weapons systems offline for the moment, then claps Comrade Gawain on the shoulder and moves to approach the camp alongside Tomoe.

     "I am All-Seeing Eye, Scourge of Autochthon. State your designations and business here," he says flatly, arms crossed behind his back. "Aggression is inadvisable and will be suppressed with extreme prejudice."
Gawain The prison turns out to not, in fact, currently be in use, so approaching the lower-case camp is the task of the day. Sword not out, Gawain approaches to the side of N'raha, holding his hands up high if the mutants seem to start getting hostile to show that he means no harm.

"Greetings! I am Sir Gawain, Knight of the Sun, Warden of the Paladins. Do you need medical attention? I still have some poultices on me, if so. Nothing is required in return, though any information on the area or the prison camp nearby would be much appreciated." There's a frown towards Eye's way of approaching things, but Gawain's super helpful manner might also not be the best solution, either.
Empty Tidings Trudge.

Trudge.

Trudge.

It's snow and shadows all the way down. Tidings misses the West already. At least the water was something she could more easily deal with. This is just... rude. How does anyone live in this? Present company excluded, apparently -- the mortal wounds make it pretty clear that they're dealing with ghosts, and gruesomely killed ones, too. The camp (and the Camp) twinge some vague recollection of hers, but she can't place it.

Tidings, who had already been leading the very leisurely charge, comes to the camp. She inhales slowly and exhales steadily, a ring and an enclosed circle of golden light settling on her brow. It glitters in the firelight, and makes her a touch tense... but Eye has her back, so she doesn't worry overly much.

"I am Empty Tidings of Brass and Verdigris," she declares to the collected mutants. There's a sensation of weird stillness in the air, as if some ancient magic was stirring and settling around her. "This is my entourage. Take me to your leader. We come with a message."
Staren     "They're ghosts, but ghosts of /what/?" Staren wonders, of the people at the camp. "Anyway, that's why they all have those wounds -- ghosts' bodies manifest the wounds that killed them." He wonders if constructs can even be ghosts.

    After sending some drones to scout it out, he comments, "The 'prison' seems to be empty. And we're in a shadowland, so if it was full of ghosts, they should be visible..."

    Well, it seems everyone's decided to go say hi. Staren lands, puts away his broom, and walks over. "Hello. Who are you and who are you fighting?"
Corona Arclite Corona Arclite briefly tips her hat at Staren's greeting. "Ah'd say stayin' out of trouble, but Ah reckon y'all know me well enough to know that's a pile of manure."

She rolls her eyes at the debates though. Why do people always have to stop and bicker over things when there's work to be done.

Well, we have a camp, and a Camp. One with injured mutants, but that's for healers and people actually capable of dealing with other people to deal with. So she just lurks in the background with crossed arms, letting the talking people do talking things. And trying to not think too hard about what those tents might be made over. And ignoring the sideline squabble going on over the radio, that's not really relevant right now.

Her attention briefly drifts towards ASE and he describes his analyse of the other camp, and a shiver runs all the way down her spine to make her tail twitch. While she's not from any world that had an 'Auschwitz' she's seen molemen encampments that were similar in purpose, and that's enough.
Runa     Runa stays out of the conversation playing out amongst the group over the radio. She still understands this world so little that most of the talk goes over her head. Instead she quietly gives thanks to Inga, "I'm confident such a thing would be averted through the power of the gods. But your kindness is appreciated." She puts the gloves on before continuing.

    As she arrives with the others at the camp, Runa is naturally on alert at the sight of its inhabitants. The inhuman appearance combined with the obviously fatal wounds suggest to Runa that they are undead. Their actions do suggest that they still retain intelligence of some degree, so Runa is willing to hold on any attacks as others have suggested.

    Instead the Priestess steps up and says, "To all those who are suffering and seek release from the existance of undeath... I offer my services to free you of these shells and provide salvation for your souls." She looks around for any takers.
Bloody Revelations     Approaching the camp, the entire group immediately gets *looks*. They aren't straight to their clothes or anything like that, but looking for something else. Eyeballs go to N'raha's ears and tail. They go to Tomoe's fairy wings. They go to 'Eye's augmentation. To Staren's only slightly ridiculous armour suit and possibly also cat features. To Corona's everything. They pass from oddity to oddity, and then all the glares focus on Xion, Inga, Roxas, and Empty Tidings, who don't look obviously abhuman.

    A particularly large humanoid with far too many muscles in places there normally aren't any and arms like stone pillars points to N'raha to get his attention, then to Xion, completely ignoring her. "Why the fuck'dyou bring a little girl along? And an old woman? Some moron who thinks he's a knight too. You lure 'em from Whitewall? They don't look they got nothin' valuable on them. You looking to die too? Solidarity for a brother, huh? Then what's humans doing here?" Apparently, they assume the catman (and the other catman (etc.)) to be 'like them', in their infinite variety. Of course, they can also obviously tell that they're still alive (possibly except Staren, depending on whether or not he has blood today).

    He breaks into a round of guffaws that spread throughout the nearby members of the camp when offered healing assistance. "So you're right fresh meat! Down south, aintcha? Look at you all bundled up." says a creature with ant mouthparts (somehow). "Well, congratulations on escaping the Hunt this far up, but you took a wrong step off that road. Everyone here's been dead for a thousand years or more, mate! You really don't know the stories, do ya? Well now that you're here, how about you pay your respects, huh?" A round of 'yeah, pay respects!' ripples through the crowd. When Runa offers to *release them from undeath* however, the muttering turns to outright anger. A number of nearby inhumans stand up and grab their weapons, advancing on her like gang thugs, leaning down to go "What'd you say, little miss?"

    Empty Tidings walks up and just flagrantly pretends to be a Solar. Where this gets people to point and scream and call the guards to murder the demon in most of Creation, here, for some reason, it gets an immediate agitated stir mostly involving awe and disbelief. More than a few of the ghosts (surreally solid and interactive here) take knee instantly, bowing to her authority. "Must be absolutely mad." the brawny one mutters. "I thought they were all dead."

    It's the brass automaton that comes forward, clicking tick-tock step by step, standing, or rather unfolding, to its full height that towers over most as it approaches. Unless the obviously dead people, it looks pretty much entirely functional, save a lot of replacement parts no longer of brass. "That would be me." it crackles in a synthetic, gramophone voice, little brass shutters blinking over its glowing glass eyes. "You've certainly come far out of your way to brave Marama's Fell. The Traveler's Road is not a discrete means of getting about. If you would like to, I would pray that you explain to us why you've brought the living here. Especially to our humble war clan."

    A blind thing whispers in explanation to the side. "Thrice-Dead Achiba of course! Mad bastard thinks he's some kind of stra-tee-jist. Wants to unite the Fell and strike outside the borders! Been raiding villages and pissing off the Icewalkers and everything! Idiot actually killed a party from the Deathlord! He's gonna get the hammer down on all of us, even the ones who don't join him! You not heard of him? He wants to be some kind of famous warlord!"
N'Raha     Good work, Raha, now you gone and Voluntold yourself into work. The catman sighs a bit, hefts his axe again, and grunt. "Mate, I just comes here looking to help people, I'm with her-"
    And then Empty Tidings does her God Act and Raha's teeth set on edge. The said flagrant power usage just hackles him something fierce, and he clenches at his axe. He's controling several urges regarding Divinity right now, as he ever so slightly, and almost unthinkingly puts himself between the big dudes and Runa. "Like I said, I'm just the muscle here. I figure you lot of killers can tell one of your own on that point, now can't you?" His tail thrashes a bit, and he bristles with aether.

    Bravura is also glowing dully now, a murderous energy seeping from Raha into the axe's blade. Steady now.
Roxas "None of these people 'brought' us." Roxas replies irritably, moving up to Xion's side because he's /pretty/ certain this is one of those they-need-to-cover-each-other-specifically situations. He glances over towards N'raha -- who just looks like some sort of Sidhe to him -- and then ack towards the humanoid. Really, they all look like Sidhe of one kind or another. He shakes his head, "She's Xion. I'm Roxas. Some ninja guy told us that we needed to do ssssssomething out here."

"I wasn't really paying attention." He adds, shrugging lightly.

"These guys have been arguing the entire way in," he waves towards N'Raha, Runa, and anybody else who has come to visibility, "and I don't really know what they want."

"Do /you/ guys know what a mysterious ninja might need to be done out here?" He asks, perfectly at ease with the monstrous appearances of the ghosts and the automaton.
Gawain As the ghost mutants get upset, especially at Runa, Gawain moves to step in front of her and make sure they don't attack her. "Please, no violence!" They mentioned he thinks he's a knight, which makes him sad because he absolutely is a knight, but he straightens up, pride forcing him to correct them. "I /am/ a knight, actually! I'm also not exactly living - I am a spirit myself." If they check, he absolutely radiates magic.

When the automaton asks why they've come, and the blind mutant speaks up, Gawain responds. "Yes, we've heard of Thrice-Dead Achiba. In fact, we've come to solve the problem and slay him once and for all. Any information you can offer would be most appreciated." And there's a pause.

"Ah, and I'm not joking, either! I get that that might sound kind of absurd, but we're very skilled at what we do."
Roxas Roxas nudges Xion in the side and nods towards Gawain, as if to say THAT SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING A MYSTERIOUS NINJA WOULD ASK US TO DO. He's not really totally certain, but ninjas /are/ assassins, after all.
Corona Arclite Corona Arclite sighs, cupping a hand over her brow for a moment. "Miss, Ah know ya mean well," she murmurs towards Runa, "But this ain't no normal land of the livin'. Ah reckon ya kinda unintentionally insulted em."

So much for this going peacefully... Not that she's really surprised. Do they ever?

Then her ears perk up aside her stetson. Even in the bitter cold air she can hear the click-a-clack of autonamous machinery and is probably the least surprised to see some sort of machine amble up.

Whatever she's about to say is cut short in a yelp as Hopalong reachs over her shoulder to whap the side of her head with a metallic paw. "What was that for?!" The automatonic jackalope turns his head to chitter at her in his own clicky mechanical 'speech'. "Ah was not. Admirin' only, not touching."

A puff of steam escapes Hopalong's nasal duct vents, clearly not entirely buying that.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga's eyebrows rise at being called an old woman, before her eyes narrow slightly. "While I believe most of my curses are designed for the living, I could be inclined to get /creative/," she replies darkly. As the knightly folk step up to protect Runa, Inga stays where she is, though she'll have her eye on the priestess just in case.

"I am sorry if our current living state is offensive to you, but I believe we are here to help. As the knight says, we have some skill in this area," she adds.

Inga glances briefly toward Xion and Roxas. She blinks once. She's not sure they are entirely sane. There's something...off about them. Out of curiousity, she lets slip the control on her second sight for a moment as she gazes in their direction.
Tomoe Tomoe is upfront with All-Seeing Eye and has not yet gone for a weapon, she also keeps tabs on where Runa is, for Priestess will be key in the team's survival if they end up in a brawl here with the camp. The same deal for Inga but she's pretty sure N'Raha will have her covered pretty well already. So far aside from glares to the not obviously abhuman members of the party there's been no real hostile response.

They are talking and she pauses as Empty Tidings Solars out for a moment and that gets the attention of beings here.

"We have come looking for him, yes it's true and as for each one you scoff at they are quite skilled at what they do."

She looks to Gawain for a moment and nods.

"Aye he is, he is a legendary knight in his own right. We came for Thrice-Dead Achiba, not for yourselves."
All-Seeing Eye      "You were mistaken," says Eye to the brawny one. "The Sun's Chosen still walk Creation, for all the good it does." He doesn't specifically refer to Tidings as being one, however. "Gawain here is essentially a Solar by a different name."

     Behind his back, the leather of his gloves creaks audibly. He's clenching his fists. He manages to offer Gawain a cordial, if clipped nod of his head, agreeing silently. "With two Exalted and a man who may as well be one among us, Achiba will stay dead. I suppose the others may be of help, as well." The automaton seems to catch his interest.

     "Creation hasn't been kind to its automatons," notes the Exalt. "It's rare to find one in working shape. What is your purpose here?"
Staren     Staren's slightly taken aback. These guys are mutants who are against humans or something? Before he can figure out how to spin this, though, Empty Tidings steps up. Staren stares at her for a moment, and then the others speak. "Indeed, it is not a boast. Members of this party have helped to kill three deathlords. As you say, this new warlord has pissed off the wrong people and brought the hammer down -- but it's he we're here for, not you."

    Staren scratches the side of his helmet. "Is there, uh, a reason you'd expect that whoever comes for him would take out all of you, too?"
Empty Tidings Honestly, Tidings was mostly just counting on them not being willing to jump her due to all kinds of ancient pacts and oaths about that sort of thing. She /is/ an emissary and a diplomat and all sorts of other things that come to mean 'jumped-up messenger girl,' and this actually lets her do her job when it comes to the more dire locations in and around Creation.

"Dead clearly doesn't mean much around here these days," Tidings asides a touch jovially to the brawny one. "And the Hunt is losing its touch. I'll admit, the cold doesn't really agree with me --" She makes a momentary show of adjusting her furs, smiling a bit embarrassedly. "-- but I'm from the Southeast, so I hope you can forgive the occasional shiver and stammer?"

Empty Tidings clasps her hands together in front of her and bows to the automaton-looking one. "As my companions say. We've come for that 'mad bastard,'" the corner of her mouth quirks up for a second, "before he does any more harm. I'm not particularly inclined to fight everyone who looks at me funny on the way across the Fell, so I'd be very grateful if you could help us locate him."
Runa     Runa stands her ground as some of the larger undead mutants approach her. It might be because a couple of the others move to interpose themselves between her and the threat. However, Runa proceeds to place her hands on the shoulders of Gawain and N'Raha, giving them a soft smile before gently urging them to the side.

    Runa steps forward to meet the one that had spoken, before bowing, "Please forgive me if I did not speak clearly-" Corona offers her suggestion, so Runa adds, "-Or offended you in any way. But if it is true that you have endured this existence for so long, as your companion says, then surely it must be tiring? I simply offer the chance to rest in peace. It is a choice for each to make."

    Runa straightens again, looking to each of those trying to menace her, "Is there nothing of this unlife that weighs heavily on you, that you not wish to be free of? If so, then I will speak no more of this matter."
Xion Xion, for her part, is mostly spoken for, though she seems not-at-all preturbed by the 'hey who brought THAT NORMAL GIRL', until Roxas notes that nobody brought them.

"Oh! Yeah. We brought ourselves. And no, I'm super sure Roxas and I will be passing on having our souls freed and stuff. Sorry, it's kind of... a thing."

"So, I guess, we're a bunch of random people a ninja you guys don't know sent us to help, and that sounds weird, but basically we're all people who want to vaguely help with good things and stop bad things? So instead, why don't we skip all the weird quest-giving text and suspicion, and the 'no really, we want to help', and the 'prove it' and all that, and you just point us towards something to do, okay?"

Xion's smile is a little empty, but it is very present.

"Otherwise I need to find that ninja and that seems like it's another whole thing I don't wanna do. Ninjas are hard to find, you see."
Roxas "I don't think she's talking to us."

oxas clarifies for Xion, folding his arms loosely over his chest and casting what is undoubtedly a nasty look towards Runa, "But... listen, Miss. I don't really know that much about people, or how to deal with them. I mean, I'm better than most of my friends. But still... I don't think there's really ever a time when it's a good idea to suggest that maybe somebody would like to stop existing. Maybe you just expect that of ghosts, but it's sort of like walking up to a normal person who's crying out in public and going:"

"'Hey, you look like you're in a lot of pain, would you like me to help you commit suicide?'"

"There's not really a way to do it that doesn't make you look like a lunatic." He unfolds his arms, finishing the thought with a loose gesture of both hands.
Bloody Revelations     N'Raha gets a great big snort at 'just here to help people', but after getting a lot of personal space-invading looking up and down from something with giant bug eyes, they seem to assess he is the real deal in terms of legitimate muscle, actually backing off when they sense magic of some stripe. "A mysterious wot?" grunts something vaguely like a gorilla, with gigantic wolverine claws. "I think that's like an assassin." clicks the ant man next to him. "Oh. Probably they wont yew to bump off Achiba I guess." gorillaclaws insists. "He's a great big ass."

    Gawain's *suspicious* claims get them to turn aside towards a short, hunched, furry thing with a tentacled snout, which shuffles forward and begins sniffing and snuffling all over him, before coming back with "Yep. Spirit. No living blood in those veins. You rubes should be able to smell that much." leading to a round of mild disappointment mostly overridden with curiosity. "You some kinda god then?" "Whatever. The old lady has real potent stuff in her veins. I can tell." 'mumblemumble pay respects'.

    They mostly shut up and quiet down when the group confirms that they are actually here for Achiba. There are some disbelieving snickers at Staren claiming 'three Deathlords', but overall they seem to take the group relatively seriously at this point, their motley nature explained away with the word 'entourage' pretty readily. "As I live and breathe." the musclemonster murmurs after All-Seeing Eye talks to him. The automaton shifts several tiny gears and struts that affect the facial shifting that evinces a smile. "No, it has not. My name is Impeccable Abacus. I was, ah, deactivated, at around the same time most of these people were executed. It seems they didn't quite go all the way; I assume they left me intact out of hopes that someday they could understand my construction and make use of me, and the others"

    He replies relatively cordially to Empty Tidings, glossing over the mildly offensive things his ostensible followers are sullenly mumbling about Inga and Runa in the meantime, realizing that if he's still talking, he must intend for none of them to be killed. "Then you are a friend of ours, for the time being. Unfortunately, the task may be more difficult than you might realize. Thrice-Dead Achiba is the first ghost of the Fell to ever unite any significant portion of those that have dwelled within it for . . . well, at least ten centuries. By my calculations, two thirds of the war parties that make their living here have fallen in with his crowd, due to recent successes in raiding outside the Shadowland, and evincing independence from the nearby Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears, and the Bishop of the Chalcedony Thurible; powerful necromancers with their own designs to own the Fell, if you're new to these parts. Ideally, we'd like neither of them here."
Bloody Revelations     "The ghosts here have been set in their ways for a long time, as ghosts are. Warring amongst each other is what they have done for centuries. It gives their unlives meaning. Something to attach to, and occupy themselves with, to resist the call of a true death. Since they can't permanently kill each other by normal means, it's normally in good sport, or else they grow tired of their grudges and allegiances and switch sides, gather together, and break apart with time."

    "Achiba is different. For whatever reason, recently he has begun to consider himself a strategist. A leader. He believes he can bring all of Marama's Fell under one banner, and establish some sort of shadowland nation in the north. While it is true he is extremely powerful, and now commands many tens of thousands of mostly loyal troops, he will be absolutely no match if either of the necromancers decide to mobilize in force, nor if Whitewall gains assistance capable of purging the shadowland, to say little of aggravating the Realm enough to send their monks. It is an egotistical fool's bet."

    "You are correct in assuming that if he were to succumb to a final death, his following would break apart in short order. He is, however, easily one of the most bloodthirsty and stubborn. A former pit fighter of the First Age, actually. Quite a good one. Bred for war. He is driven and stubborn, and no one currently knows what Fetters currently allow him to cling to unlife. I imagine simply bashing his head in won't suffice. I hope you have a better plan than trying to wage war on him and his, even as skilled as you might be."

    Someone grunts to Runa in half-joking tones. "Well, if you could bring me back to life, that'd really be somethin'. I miss the taste o' real food. Real flesh, y'know. And the real, proper sun. Still, fighting's loads better than whatever comes after."
N'Raha     The cat warrior shuffles in place a bit, realizing the brutes are talking with him again, and not at his generally foul mood with Empty Tidings right now. Hands grip at Bravura, and the warrior plants his axe head in the dirt, turning to face heis fellow 'cat man' in the opposite nubmer, trying to ignore how much more cat than man he is. Ah well. This is the Multiverse.
    A look to Abacus, and the Warrior of Light jabs himself in the chest. "Well, for at least, I have a pretty regular habit of killing things that aren't alive in the first place, or shouldn't be. Even some things that like to think themselves gods." A more pointed look at Empty, before he sighs. "So, 'beating him around the head and neck' might actually BE a plan. Or at least a major part of it."
Corona Arclite There's a snort and a frown as Corona shakes her head. "No respect fer the spirit of machina," she murmurs at Impeccable's reaccount. "Looks like the name fit, though." If there was any consideration of poking around it's gone when the automatron makes it clear it's sentinet. There's a line Corona won't cross, that's almost like graverobbin'... That and how many friends she already has that are robots or cyborgs or some other kind of machine.

Kind of reminds her of a magitech dragon she knew, but that seems like another time these days.

Now where were we? "Stragetist huh? That can be dangerous... but it can also be an undoin', if hubris is gettin' the better of 'em."

Corona is keeping her hands to herself, but that doesn't stop her from circling around Impeccable. Though it's clearly with a look of awe and appreciation now. Even Hopalong has quieted down, craning his head as he can to peer a photostatic lense/eye at the larger automatron from Corona's back.
Gawain The snuffling gets Gawain to raise an eyebrow, but as his claims are proven true, he just smiles and nods. "I'm the spirit of a legendary hero, having died fourteen centuries ago. I apologize if I come off suspicious to you - I'm not much like anything here, as far as I know!" Explaining himself to the ghosts is fine. They're friends! Or at least, they will be, because...

Negotiation with Abacus is going well. He explains that they need to find Achiba's fetters, and Gawain considers. "Perhaps we can find out who Thrice-Dead Achiba was in life, and if there's any ties to his past still standing. That would give us the advantage, wouldn't it? Is there any idea where to start on that? I presume he must be from the North, as it'd be an awful long way for a ghost to travel otherwise."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga listens, leaning on her staff. A bit more information on the being they are to face is welcome, even if the ones delivering it are less than pleased to see most of them. "Yes, clearly it is more complicated than might can solve alone--though you would be surprised, the things some of these people are capable of," she says, then looks to Gawain. "Indeed, if we could do so I may be able to work a useful spell," she adds.

Runa's offer does seem rather offputting when you put it that way...these ghosts don't seem to want to move on, so it's no business of hers. By the sound of it, they don't have anywhere pleasant to move on to.
Tomoe Things seem to be going so better than hoped or at least so it seems as people confirm that they did she takes a look at the construct, Impeccable Abacus speaks of their own past and how they died and she gives them a look for a moment.

"That makes sense."

As the rep for the dead here speaks to Empty Tomoe makes note of this warlord and gets a sinking feeling, it couldn't be /his ghost/ could it? They speak also of how the Ghosts keep themselves going constant warfare between their groups as a focus, means and almost entertainment? He fears of it being the Bull's ghost is seemingly laid to rest as their target seems to be far older than that.

"I get it Sir Gawain we find out if he has any old rivals or people with grudges that would want to put him down. Or might have insights that would help us take him down. out." She also makes a note to hit up their local patron for information on how to make this ghost stay dead if they can't come up with a way on their now.

"So we may have a starting point we learn about his past and how to get him to move on finally. Either by sword or by choice but I doubt the latter will be likely from what you have said."
Runa     Runa turns her head to Roxas, "That is not a fair comparison. Undeath is a curse imposed on one's soul that prevents them from moving on to the next life, whatever form that takes. Sometimes self-imposed, sometimes not. It is a mercy to assist the undead in being free of the curse, no less so than healing the injuries of the living."

    Runa returns to looking at the group of undead, giving the one that had spoke of returning to life a sad look, "I'm sorry that I cannot help in that regard. Your deaths are too far in the past for me to be able to provide such a miracle." As none of the others seem interested in taking up her offer, Runa simply bows to them once more, "As promised, I will leave you be."

    Moving over to hear the tail end of the conversation with Abacus, offering up, "I can provide various means to assist in putting this 'Achiba' to a final rest. Especially if we can find some connection to this world that still lingers within him, as Sir Gawain suggests."

    Runa turns her head to give Inga a smile, "Perhaps we could even work together to strengthen any such attempt?"
Empty Tidings "Then I suppose we'll have to ask the necromancers to leave," Tidings says, a clear and obvious jest. "Once we've pacified the would-be warlord, that is."

She's pleased that negotiations are going so well, even if she has the feeling of eyes at her back whenever N'Raha glances her way. Something about him rubs her the wrong way. She decides to sort it out later. He doesn't seem the type to put a knife between her shoulders at a time like this. "If I were a god, I wouldn't be dirtying my overpriced heavenly slippers in a place like this," she asides to the Warrior of Light with barely a twitch of her head in his direction. "Clearly, I must be something different. Better, if you like." She's a little smug, there. That's sort of an Exalted thing, though.

Back to the ghosts... and the machine. "Then we need to act quickly. You've been patient with our little band, and I'm thankful for that. You've given me no cause for hostility, and I wish no ill will upon you and yours. It would be unfortunate if we had a method of destroying the restless dead and you were caught in the crossfire." There's something in her eyes when she says that, something warning, something dangerous... but it passes, and she's pleasant again.

"A pit fighter? Then he'd perhaps be amenable to a battle. Facing one of the Chosen, say," Tidings offers, spreading her hands, her smile growing, "whilst the more mystically-inclined ferret out his fetters." Tidings almost immediately regrets saying anything, but the urge to pontificate about her diabolical scheme had just bubbled up and couldn't be stopped.

"...The start of a plan, at least." She puts her hands down. "What of you, though? I presume you wish to keep yourselves free of his influence." Tidings quirks a brow. "Might I offer you employment while we remain in the Fell?"
All-Seeing Eye      Eye raises his brow at Abacus' information, the Alchemical moving one hand from behind his back to stroke his chin. Perhaps the internment camp a short distance away is where the executions occurred. "I see." It's not what they're here to discuss, however, so he holds his next question in reserve until the more pressing concerns are understood.

     The explanation of ghostly psychology further draws his interest. According to Abacus, much of what ghosts do is to 'resist the call of a true death.' This is something that requires immediate clarification. "Is a 'true death' even possible for a ghost? Or are you referring to reincarnation? I have trouble understanding the allure of this Underworld compared to Creation, and why so many ghosts remain. Having visited both, I much prefer the latter." Perhaps, if the motives of the general undead public could be understood... Could living infiltrators make a targeted propaganda campaign in the Underworld, as undead agents have done in Creation? "Is it choice, or something else?"

     It isn't long before his augmented hearing picks up Raha's discontent. Without turning to look at the Miqo'te, Eye addresses him. "A few notes, darling... since I do detect a hint of hostility, and the odd suspicious glance." Strange... how could he have caught that without actually looking? "There are many gods in Creation, to the point that our usage of the word 'god' is not unlike 'mammal'--very, very broad. Exalted are imbued with the godly essence of any one of a select few such gods, but we aren't gods ourselves. I do hope this knowledge facilitates seamless cooperation with both Tidings and myself!" The word 'seamless' seems more emphasized--and it is only at the end of this sentence that he deigns to look directly at Raha.

     "Oh! Before I forget--Abacus, what's the significance of the internment camp we passed on our way here?"
Staren     The ghost recently decided to be a warlord. Staren glances at the others. "Ghosts can't grow or change, huh?"

    He gives a curious look at the one expressing interest in living again. He wonders, can he use the goggles /with/ an ego bridge to...? Hmm. He'll have to investigate that later.

    "Yeah... yeah. Even if we might be able to pull it off, it'd be better to have that as Plan B. Getting our own army... hmm... maybe if we knew more about ghosts... but if it was that easy, the necromancers would have already dealt with him...

    Wait, is Runa lecturing them about undeath being a curse? "Lady, learn to read the room." He asides to her.

    "Wait, did you say /ninja/? And /they/ didn't tell you who this guy was in life?" Staren sighs a little.
Xion There's a wash of proper nouns, metaphysics, people formulating plans and announcing themselves, and an undercurrent of 'ey just fix this thing' which basically boils down to 'hey so knock off this guy and everything will fix itself'.

Well.
'Fix' itself.
If such a thing can be said to be true about Creation, or the woes of a post-life environment, or really for-profit assassinations in general.

Xion is cold, mildly miserable, and she already knew what she had to do: the Ninja told her, and bought her catering. She didn't need all this other stuff.

"I'm just gonna go fight him." Xion announces out of the blue, swiping her left hand idly through the air at her side and a Corridor of Darkness opening up besides her. In her right hand, a soft windchime-like tinkling 'shwing' heralds a simple arming sword appearing in her hand, not even made out of magical silver or liquid sunbeams but mundane steel, with a brassy crossguard and simple, functional hilt.

"I'll just stab him until he dies... aaaagain."

Then she just wanders out into the Corridor.
Roxas "Undeath is just another form of existing," Roxas replies to Runa, his irritation escalating to palpable disgust, "the fact that you hold a prejudiced view towards it doesn't change what you're offering somebody. It's not normal to offer to kill hurting people, and it's not normal to offer to 'set undead free', whether they're ghosts or something else entirely. If you don't want to get reactions like this, the solution is simple-- stop doing it."

"If somebody wants to not exist badly enough, you're not going to have to go out of your way to get that message most of the time."

Roxas pulls his hood back up. He's about to open his own Corridor of Darkness to leave when Xion decide opens her own and makes her statement-- which he responds to by simply striding on after her. Once he stops across the threshold he closes the portal behind them with a wave of his hand, evidently having no desire to be followed.
Bloody Revelations     Abacus, even for a fantasy automaton, appears to be of ludicrously complex design, to the point that it's doubtful a human hand could actually fashion any of the components, or a human eye figure out what any of them actually do. It's clear that centuries haven't been kind to him however, and pieces here and there have steadily been replaced with facsimiles of a pitch black and oddly liquid-smooth metal that still somehow looks like coarse iron.

    For whatever reason, the specific mention of 'fourteen centuries' from Gawain gets some measure of nodding approval; whether that's just because they see him as a super veteran and thus respectable ghost, or whether it's some sort of important date, who knows? When Runa claims she can't bring them back to life though, the ghosts mostly try to look cynical and mocking, but do sound just a little bit disappointed. "I'm not reincarnating as some jackass human dirt farmer." one of them growls. Empty Tidings' comments about slippers draw some mean, appreciative snickers.

    Hearing the talk of Fetters and the fact that certain people have the skills to interact with them specifically, Abacus shifts topics slightly. "His history isn't too difficult to determine. Achiba is a kyzvoi; a species created solely by the Solars of the First Age to participate in gladiatorial combat. Like the rest of us, after the Solars were overthrown he was assassinated, he was 'relocated' to Camp 17, and executed, as the new Shogunate believed that they couldn't take chances with any beings created by the Solars having been secretly programmed with dead man's switches out of paranoia. There were a great many of these camps before, but eventually they were all decommissioned in favour of Camp 17. This shadowland results from the mass genocides carried out here by its operator, Anjei Marama. That facility you can see is only the outskirts; an old and outdated one too. The main complex stretches hundreds of miles, further to the east. Most of the ghosts that remain there are completely feral."

    "It's quite probable his attachments to life have to do with lingering resentments towards Anjei Marama and the rest of the Dragon-Blooded descendants of the Shogunate, which betrayed your ancestors, and mass-murdered everything they created." Abacus continues, though he looks quite squintily at All-Seeing Eye. "A ghost can be killed and re-form their corpus from nothing as many times as they are willing and able to resist the call of reincarnation, or of Oblivion. They choose to do so because they have reasons to want to remain who they are, rather than rolling the dice again, or ceasing to exist. Unfinished business, certain attachments, powerful motivations, that sort of thing. Ghosts that no longer have any real reason, or any will, to stick around tend to disappear, either on their own, or when they've been killed again."

    He nods towards Runa and Inga. "That, or until someone uses suitable magic on them. Any magic capable of sending a ghost straight into reincarnation is viewed like a death curse in the Underworld. At this rate, it's what Achiba has earned." He side-answers another question. "Neither Necromancer has made significant moves on Marama's Fell due to it falling between their territories, and so they keep each other in check, but also because of the Traveler's road being completely impassable to creatures of death. Its blessings prevent any darkness on its stones, so the Bishop especially has to send their forces miles out of their way through the mountains. The people of Whitewall work to shrink it every summer, but it will be an eternity before they finish, with mortal magics."
N'Raha     There's another lesser bristle form Raha as Eye starts to 'explain things', but only less so. That divine energy is still throwing him off. Though, he does grip at his axe a little bit less.
    A little bit.
Tomoe Tomoe catches the comment from one of the disappointed Ghosts about not wanting to come back as a nobody dirt farmer which can get. She does pay more attention to the tale that Abacus has to tell and she visibly cringes.

"So for the crime of who your makers were, you were all, dear God..."

She looks genuinely horrified at that level of events, while she can get the idea. She also learns their target past he was made to fight and only fight in the arena for the entertainment of others.

"So the primary camps inhabit are full on feral? I see and non-existence..."

She shudders at a memory of an earlier adventure in Creation. Which she tries to suppress it.

"The people of White Wall are nothing if focused on keeping their city-state going and rebuilding. Is there anything you can tell me about our targets fighting style? Knowing how he likes to fight could be very useful in how we deal with him."

She then takes note of the construct, what has Abacus used to repair his self with. What is that funky black stuff? She might ask later, but right now it's not imporant, right?
Inga Freyjasdottir The Seer gives N'Raha a very pointed look at his barely restrained agression. The explaination from Inga shakes her head as Xion and Roxas take their leave. Inga's lips press together thoughtfully, then goes back to listening. The more than is explained about the history of this place, the more horrified and disgusted she looks. She has no words, really, just a look of resolve.

She nods to Runa, "That is possible," she replies to her offer of colaberating.
Corona Arclite Corona Arclite just drawls a somber "Yeeup," in response to Tomoe's bleak conclusion. "Disturbin' ain't it? Utter hate, not even fer somethin' you did. Just who you ar--were and how ya came to be."
Staren     "Better than what happens, you said... It's not like you'd /experience/ being a jackass human dirt farmer. With your memory erased by lethe, it'd be... someone else. Not that I'd reccomend ceasing to exist either."

    The story of the former gladiators is pretty terrible, but in Creation it seems to barely rate. Staren can't /fix/ it though, so... keep to the problem at hand.

    Speaking of hands, Abacus has some unusual parts there. "Where did you get those...?" Staren nods towards the side of Abacus with more repairs on it. If a necromancer made them, maybe they can help. If there's some kind of... solar artifact repository around here, that'd be useful too.
Empty Tidings "I could use a band of skilled warriors as escorts or raiders, depending on the circumstances," Empty Tidings explains, when prompted for more information on a job. "If we're facing an army of that size, and if destruction is merely a momentary inconvenience, I would prefer to know I have some skilled warriors at our backs to even the odds a little." She smiles wryly. "You don't get to be as old as all of you are without knowing your craft and trade, and it certainly isn't farming dirt."

Tidings makes a little motion with one hand. "I'll compensate you, of course. Weapons, plunder, grave goods -- we can discuss it, and the possibility of employment, as you like. Think about it~"
All-Seeing Eye      The Alchemical narrows his eyes at the 'dirt farmer' comment. Whatever else is going on, refusal to comply is one element of the undead problem. Abacus merely confirms his suspicion, but the information does prove a few of his other notions correct as well. He seems to imply that certain magic can be used to 'force' a ghost to reincarnate. That is useful information as well... information which could deprive the Underworld of valuable labor and resources. Eye smiles softly, the expression melting his annoyance away.

     "If anything, Staren, this is proof of what I said, not proof that I was wrong. I might be more inclined to see it your way if the genetically engineered pit fighter decided to spend his undeath in quiet contemplation." With a slight frown and a shrug of his shoulders, Eye continues. "All I see is a creature bred for violence continuing that violence well past his ignominious demise."

     Eye briskly snaps the lapels of his longcoat. He assumes what many martial arts would consider a horse stance--but Autochthonian ones would call it 'hoverbike stance.' Two handlebars sprout from his palms, followed by an entire vehicle in short order, which unfolds below him and powers on with the gradual hum of Essence machinery. "Keep an eye open for some exciting new changes, dears," says the Exalt to the assembled mutant ghosts. "I have the ear of some very important people, and I think we can change your minds about reincarnation with a little bit of doing." He smiles, then pumps the throttle, flying off on jets of purple, cindery Essence.
Bloody Revelations     Abacus looks down at his spare parts. "These? I had to fashion them myself. It's about the only durable and suitably magically resonant material you'd find here. I wonder if there will come a day when I've had to replace the last piece of my original frame. Would I still be the same?" he muses aloud.

    He stops to think on the subject of fighting style. "Supposedly, Achiba has laid hands on some nasty equipment as of late. As a kyzvoi, he would be large and strong enough to rip one apart with his bare hands, or use his poisonous bite, but he has integrated a number of prehensile chain weapons into his spine, and picked up a sort of revolving weapon that fires the ghosts of giant burrowing maggots. Experimental equipment from when he raided the Lover, I believe."

    He considers Empty Tidings' offer very warily. Veeery warily. "If you happen to make some real progress, we'll see about it. I'd hate to turn down a legitimate chance at wealth and victory, after all, but it's a big task. Allow me to consider it."