Scene #8119: The Víla

Owner	Pose
Lilian Rook	Given the way Lilian had cheated in with the pulled strings and prior contacts to get here, returning to the Krasnoyarsk Urban Center isn't difficult, so long as one is still willing to wear a 'reserve military service' badge. It's no more abnormal than before, given the enormous population of part time soldiers frequenting the First and Second circles, divided up between the quaint red-brick historical buildings and the aluminium-sided centers of metropolitan business. The streets are busy and heavily checkpointed, the storefronts are warm, the packed apartments are loud and brightly lit, and the scenery outside the towering walls and frigid river is just the same. Unfortunately, it is now even later into October, and thus even more 'fucking cold'. The fact that an entire operation lies ahead is something loathsome. However, canvassing the former city, now a makeshift arcology of nearly a million people, has already had days spent on it. It is no longer the purpose. Once again, the sky is dark by dinnertime, and people carry on their business under the cheery lamplit glow of something that could fake being a city of old. Much different from the cold white lights on the mountainside, miles outside of the Urban Center, and the subject of notable movement to-and-fro by secretive high-status personnel. Going there directly is certainly plausible, but equally liable to attract the worst kind of notice if they aren't careful; Multiversals really aren't at liberty to go wandering around unsupervised, never mind outside the walls; especially under as close scrutiny as the 'united-territory administrative government' applies. The Warpgates in the center of town can apparently reach there, and aren't all that guarded, but are infrequently used, and there is no real knowledge of what lies beyond them. They've discovered that there is 'a monitoring and early warning station up there, but also a numbers station and radio interception slash decryption facility, and a 'volkhv' on-staff who is acting as liaison to the local 'víla', for some upcoming task out west.', and that's it. Still, it's the only lead anyone has. Their efforts to gather intel has given them worrying whispers of one 'Operation Winter Hazel', and there is simply no chance of going all the way to Ural mountains from here. It's up to the experienced Elites, and their new recruits, to approach this.
Tamamo	Those who die outside, such as being KIA, are, as a matter of ironclad policy, left where they fall. If they were soldiers, their tags and rifle are returned to next of kin, if possible, but never a body, or even ashes. Last time, they'd learned of something unexplained, and likely at least partially unknown -- something too dangerous to investigate -- about those who fall outside the walls. Tamamo, having far less fear of ghosts, fey, and other spirits than most, for reasonably good reasons, has decided that she can, and should, brave whatever curses stand between her and further answers. For that purpose, she's asked for information on where some have fallen, as well as for some convenient transportation (whether that's something her allies in this investigation can supply, or something she can drive, herself, temporarily requisitioned as a matter of Elite support business). Naturally, considering what she's off to do, she invites Trudy. "Oh, Ms. Grimm, might you be free to assist me in speaking with the dead?"
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Sneak a gate through the warpgate Can't do that silently, that's for sure. >Arthur: Okay, circle around above and jump in from orbit Bad idea. There's not enough warding, moon might mess him up. >Arthur: Alright, ask the others for a way? Arthur's fumbling with his phone on a bench out in the cold streets, fat-fingering his Pesterchum interface through some winter gloves to see what everyone else has as far as options go. Hey, there's a few! Tamamo and Trudy have some kind of plan, and so does Bond. He's gonna flicker away the minute they get that data, and get everyone whatever Gate is needed to hit the location that Tamamo and Trudy are able to extract.
Rita Ma	Rita, now knowing what to expect, is properly bundled up in some excessively fluffy winterwear this time. She still instinctively hugs herself and shivers a little when her breath fogs the air on arrival, but she won't have to beg a coat off of a friendly soldier this time. Unusually, she's carrying a little briefcase. She opens it up on a doorstep in an alley a safe distance from the town's center, revealing a half-dozen neatly-folded soldiers' uniforms inside! They feel a little heavy to wear, and don't breathe as easily as they should, but are otherwise functional and visually perfect. (She tries to foist one on Arthur if she sees him, too; somehow it fits even his manlet frame.) "I feel a little guilty about it, though," Rita says to anyone who might be suiting up nearby. "Even knowing that the operation probably means something bad for Ms. Oreshnika. Haven't those soldiers been nice to us? I think I ought to try my best not to get any of them hurt." Rita herself takes no chances with the central warpgates, lightly-guarded though they might be: she shimmers out of visibility, coat and all, before scampering up the side of a building and hopping across a couple of rooftops to reach them, intending to duck through without delay. Already using her camouflage will be helpful if the other side turns out to be watched, too.
Trudy Grimm	The witch has returned to this cold, inhospitable place that feels strangely nostalgic, given the frozen lands she herself has admitted to originating from. Trudy Grimm's acknowledgement of the cold comes in the form of a luxurious fur coat that is ostensibly worn open, but easily closed just by bringing her arms together. The furry boots she usually wears can be seen underneath, suggesting her usual wardrobe and requisite assortment of noisy charms are merely concealed. Also, too, is the Grimoire carried just out of sight. Perched upon her head is the same crow from before, its nesting pose slightly askew and unnatural. If it didn't occasionally move on its own, one might be forgiven for mistaking it for a halloween decoration. Nevermind that the coat itself also seems to actually be in some form of unlife, the heads of numerous fluffy weasels moving about warily from time to time while resting in places that could be seen as decorative. "Oh, naturally," the witch replies to the shrine maiden with her characteristic broad, sharp smile, "I'd been thinking about what sorts of stories those soldiers might have, myself." One eye closes, "If you had a place in mind, by all means lead the way and I shall follow like the shadowy gremlin I am." Turning in place, she addresses the horde of Tsarist-uniformed Russian skeletons with a variety of instruments, crowded up just inside her own shadow. Lifting a finger, she touches it to her lips, "Duty calls. Another time, boys~." which is met with some clattering and disappointed noises as the shapes disappear back into the darkness.
Ishirou	Ishirou looks a bit relieved at the reveal that Rita had actual soldier uniforms instead of... What he assumed she was going to do. He takes a coat, which is likely too large for him, and places it on over his own warm coat. Once dressed up he walks up to the central gate, as if he's supposed to be there. He takes a moment to see if he can get any location numbers for Arthur before he takes a chance and warps out to the farthest point he can. Hopefully, he doesn't get caught in a blizzard, attacked by wolves, or Man in the Mooned.
James Bond	Bond's SUV remains parked somewhere unobtrusive, outside the Urban Center. More importantly, it's parked in the shade of something to confer himself a bit of privacy for a bitterly uncomfortable change of wardrobe. He'd half considered driving directly to the mountains (in no small part due to the cold being even worse here)--but that would mean extra preparations and precautions against the Man in the Moon. One night dealing with that particular Antegent was plenty, where he was concerned. His decidedly bougie winter wear is swapped out for standard-issue, matching the soldiery, with an ID that holds up surprisingly well and a rank insignia marking him as a non-commissioned officer. Enough pull to matter, not enough to draw serious eyes; a gait and demeanor that suggests experience to match his rank. With a heavy, standard-issue expeditioner's backpack and a combat rifle at rest, he comes out from around the corner. "<I can show you ways to handle them without hurting them too much,>" says Bond to Rita in Russian which the Understanding nevertheless parses. He takes his performances seriously. "<Just let me know.>" Unlike Rita, his path there is direct. The side of his expeditioner's backpack has an unusual addition, held fast in the netting on the side--a bottle of vintage samogon, unopened. Unlike Rita, he doesn't sneak to the central gates, but walks right up to them, willingly displaying the masterfully forged ID to be granted clearance through the warpgate, counting on his purposeful stride, determined expression and perfect Russian to get him through.
Lilian Rook	Asking for information about the locations of nameless graves unlikely to have even been picked over by animals is not as easy at it sounds. The average citizen has no idea of where G.D.F military operations are taking place, and soldiers are both much more tight-lipped about internal operations information than everything else they've been asked so far, and not much better informed, only able to report on individual theatres they've been to, and only when Tamamo uses magic to sway their willingness. Unless she wants to trek across the largest country of the old world (which Lilian expressly forbids anyways), she'll have to settle for operations that are casually termed 'wall maintenance'. Regular cleanup operations about the most numerous and least crafty kinds of Antegent that wander towards human civilization, hoping to catch convoys on the roads or somehow find holes in the walls. Nowadays, there are fairly few casualties during 'wall maintenance', but there were plenty enough even ten years ago. This does mean that Tamamo and Trudy will have to secure transport that can leave one of the very few, heavily policed gates, or simply won't be noticed going miles downriver to the edges of reclaimed territory. Nobody has much of a helpful suggestion beyond waiting for a regular convoy in a few days and somehow hitching a ride.
Tamamo	Tamamo is very difficult to deny, or rather, she makes frequent use of her ability to appear entirely trustworthy -- which she is! The people she's talking to just don't have any good reason to think so. It's only a little bit of cheating, to reach the destination more quickly. Transportation is something she could work out with... well, Bond had a vehicle, didn't he? But he sounded busy. Thankfully, Arthur is as reliable as ever in the art of getting people around at FTL speeds. Tamamo only needs to get the location, somewhere some number of miles downriver, and call up Arthur to read him the full description. "...is that clear enough?" Tamamo finishes, waiting together with Trudy. For her own part, she is again wearing that very fluffy coat she'd had on during the previous trip here.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Get the folks their gates! Arthur's got his MAP up! Busy looking like the dumbest type of videogame soldier, with that outfit Rita provided. He takes down the data from Tamamo, filling in things, trying to set up a GATE WAYPOINT using that data. Just like his other fast-travel, he can hopefully get a geometrically-natural landing point near that objective, and from there, wink out of existence when most people aren't looking. He'll deploy a gate near Tamamo, Trudy, and any others who want to come along -- including himself. Better than sitting out in the cold on a bench like a chump. If he can get a Gate out to that gravesite, he'll get everyone what they need and hopefully be able to hang out, leaning obnoxiously on a grave marker, watching more experienced people interrogate ghosts.
Lilian Rook	Bond's imitation uniform is immaculate and his false credentials are up to snuff, which is essentially a formality to document, being a master spy and all. Bullshitting his way through security is second nature to him. The procedure isn't too strict; given the sheer number of new personnel moving through, none of the gate guards are familiar with all of them by face and name, and so it amounts to a two factor check and a keyphrase. Then again, it's weird that there'd be more than token security at all. Lilian has said that there has never once been a human-pretending Antegent infiltrator before. Rita slips through unnoticed, given the lack of invisibility detection on a mid-level security checkpoint in the middle of a heavily defended Urban Center entirely populated by regular people. Ishirou has to dress up and follow rank and file, but following in his footsteps makes it pretty easy, all things considered. Lilian herself is begrudgingly convinced to wear one; not because she expects getting in to be difficult, but because she doesn't want to play tactical stealth action on the other end while everyone else is walking freely. She looks at Rita Meaningfully while she does. Stepping through is as any other Warpgate. The first sign that you've done so is that the temperature drops from 'chilly streets' to 'why did they have to build it on a mountain'. The station is just below the permanent snow line, but the seasonal buildup has just begun to encroach on it; combined with the tall radio and radar masts and all their blinking lights, and the boxy buildings with tiny windows and random hardware lying around outside, it'd look like a scene from The Thing if not for the alpine trees. They're dropped immediately into a surprising hustle of activity, involving no military personnel below an officer class, yet most of whom are performing the inglorious haul-ass tasks of moving, stacking, and fastening equipment and supply boxes. A new generation VTOL craft is parked on a frost-dusted landing pad, men in suits having just descended the ramp and begun entering the main compound. Loitering outside on smoke breaks are what must be techs from inside, dressed up in civilian winter jackets and discussing something about 'the mountain noise' and speculating on whether 'they' will come snooping around 'here.' There notably isn't actually a vehicle path down the mountain. There is one footpath and it goes out into the frozen forest.
Trudy Grimm	Trudy's scheming is brought to an end by the reminder that they have the Mage of Space on their side, so seizing a vehicle or assembling a mammoth skeleton aren't really necessary. She claps her hands once when Arthur deploys, "--Ah, perfect timing. I was almost committed to borrowing one of their vehicles without asking." Nevermind the logistics of cramming a truck into her own shadow. On the other side of the gate, Trudy rummages inside her furry sleeve for a moment, then produces a green crystal. Cupping her hands around it, she blows across the surface. When she releases the gem, it glows with a light not unlike a campfire, with the rune of protection; Thurisaz. Casting its green-tinged light, the gemstone floats as a spiritual beacon while casting its protections on the living gathered around it. The weasels that comprise her coat rustle uneasily, as does the crow still riding atop her head. To her credit, the witch simply tucks her hands inside her fuzzy sleeves, "Come on out. We just want to talk. Surely it's been lonely out here all this time, no? I invite you all to come out and spend some time with warm company on this cold night."
Ishirou	Ishirou appears in the hustle of activity. This is a lot of activity, a surprising amount actually. What is this operation that they are operating on? Well, from here he could probably try and put more clues together. He falls in with Lilian and Bond, assuming Rita stays hidden in her tentacle stealth. However, while he follows whatever they decide to do to move forward, he takes a serious scan of the area. Looking for what provisions are being brought, whatever technological and magical signatures he can pick up, and even taking advantage of the smoking men being here to try and pull some info out of their minds. He tries to put whatever he can together with what he found out in the city.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Accept LIGHT of WEIRD GREEN CRYSTAL Oh hey, Grist! No, actually, just a fucked up protective lamp. Arthur leaves whatever he was leaning on alone to go stand in the buff zone, planting his hands on his hips and grinning at the two Ghost Hunters, awaiting something far more powerful than your average spirit-box session.
Rita Ma	Rita puts her hands up helplessly under Lilian's stare, as if her palms could somehow deflect that awful look. "Noooo! I won't say anything, I promise! And you're choosing to put it on, aren't you?!" She releases all of that nervous energy with a little huff. Then: "Thank you, Mr. Bond. I already have a couple ways, but they're not the best. If you can show me now, I'd appreciate it! If it takes longer than that... well, I'd still like to learn some other time." ---- Rita, on the other side, finds the soonest opportunity to relax her chromatophores: invisibility is always far more taxing than a static disguise. She does this by dipping out of sight, then adopting the generic appearance of a civilian technician in one of those comfy-looking winter jackets. They've come out of the main compound for their smoke break; thus, they must be allowed in it. So her thinking goes, at least! The men in suits are a good distance ahead of her, but she doesn't draw attention to herself by picking up her pace beyond a brisk walk. It's enough just to make sure she doesn't lose them on their way to whatever Important Business they're doing. Very Permitted Technician Rita steals a look back over her shoulder at the rest of the party and gives them a thumbs-up before following the suits into the compound. She looks a little nervous, even so.
James Bond	Bond filters into the activity fairly quickly--wouldn't make much sense not to. His backpack appears to have a few supply boxes roughly the size of small briefcases, and they do contain useful supplies. The cases themselves also contain miniaturized tracking devices in their insulated lining. He settles into routine, helping with the haul-assery for long enough to blend in, and more importantly, pick up on chatter from the soldiers around the base. Consequentially, he does end up hearing some of the chatter from the techs on smoke break. 'They?' Does that mean us, Antegent, vile? Someone else? It'll have to wait. Bond plays the part of a gawker on a smoke break well, dropping his backpack, sparking up, and ogling the VTOL aircraft. He looks like a soldier rubbernecking, but his experience flying craft like this one inform what his eyes tell him. What's it got for armor, weapons, at a glance? If he can glean whether it's mass-pro or some kind of prototype, so much the better.
Lilian Rook	Arthur has some experience with trying to spacefold accurate gates while still under the protective circle of a verified Urban Center. It's not quite as difficult as the Eastern Seaboard UC, but it's still an unpleasantly bitchy process. The other end opens up half a kilometer off from where he meant to, but that's a ten minute walk on that kind of flat ground, so whatever. The site Tamamo has been informed of (via magically induced reminiscence) is an unremarkable one. Still on the carefully recultivated south Siberian fields along the river, it seems to be a spot that was perhaps once less decidedly green (well, white) and quiet not long ago. It's a short ways off the road, stretching along the side, through scattered glacial boulders and groves of thick trees. Looking for grave markers is an exercise in futility. The names of the dead are recorded somewhere back in civilization. The evidence of the fallen here is little more than ribbon fringes and the shreds of flags tied around a handful of trees by some enterprising rule-skirter. Buried in a thin layer of dirt and mouldering vegetation, slightly sticky with river clay particulate, battle clad skeletons simply lie where they fell. Some more or less a jumble of broken bones, others still in most of an entire suit of very non-biodegradable environment-sealed armour with only one or two notable breaches. Picking further into the woods, a mossy heap turns out to not be a rock at all, but the rusted remains of a walking tank, suggesting at what the terrain used to be here. It's a good find, because Trudy encounters an early problem; all of the scattered dead along the road have, if nothing else, been given last rites by a rather skilled shaman or priest; or several of them. Only the walker crew remain, spiritually, their corpses sealed under hatches to muffle prayer and behind armoured walls to blind to the outside world. They emerge in varied states of frightfully mangled, one no doubt killed in some violent internal explosion, the other two by something that has caused most of their incorporeal visage to rot. She has her audience, sullen and eerily unforthcoming towards their summoner as they may be. She has only to ask.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Start sassing the ghosts Arthur turns to the mangled ethereal bodies, opens his mouth with a wide shit-eating grin, and then immediately falls to his knees and starts dry-heaving.
Lilian Rook	"Don't." Lilian says, simply to Rita. Her hands jump up and are held flat out. "Just . . . don't. You've already said too much." she sighs. "I'm doing my very best not to think about it." She fusses with her disguise for a little bit, then declares with a hint of aggravation, "I swear this makes me look shorter." Ishirou is free to scan in a limited area, but he has to be essentially directly under the monitoring posts to get away with it; anywhere else is obviously going to picked up by all the powerful sensor equipment literally built to detect all kinds of information waves for attempted interception. Some of the boxes are lined to block x-ray or magnetic imaging, but most are an open book. The usual boring food and meds and spare parts are jumbled in with incongruously numerous weapons of dubious purpose, and more than there seem to be people here. Additional computing equipment is being shipped up en-masse, and there are hardcopy records that were apparently deemed too important to transmit digitally. Technologically, the equipment is actually cutting edge. It doesn't do anything esoteric like in Nevada, but it's by far of higher material quality. Up on the mountain, it'd be childsplay to intercept transmissions over a vast area like this, if still requiring effort to decrypt. It also appears to monitor fluctuations in the weapon and track long distance movement and energy signatures; probably a kind of spotting station for Antegent movements well beyond the horizon, in the sort of way astrologers 'spot' planets. Magically, traces leak from the lined boxes, but there is only one really significant one --no, two, overlapping each other-- somewhere beyond the hazardous-looking forested backpath. Mindscanning random tech workers brings him in contact again with the ubiquitously Russian 'actually following infosec protocols', but does elucidate him to some things. This is a monitoring station for keeping abreast of large scale developments in no-man's land, but was converted to a cyberwarfare facility and (they suspect) a spy broadcast station about fifteen years ago, and is seeing heavy activity now that command is making stern-yet-vague demands about Certain Transmissions they expect to see, and disseminating western code ciphers to the crew. Most recently, they've been trying to upgrade the station to catch a certain kind of 'noise' from far out west, attempting to triangulate with a string of closer stations along the way. Someone high up on the chain is very very convinced that it's a form of communications leak, for reasons unknown.
Lilian Rook	As far as Bond can tell from eavesdropping context, it sure sounds like low rung code monkeys being pushed around in the dark about counterintelligence. It's a more concrete version of the far-fetched rumours back in town about foreign interference. As in, the experts seem to strongly believe that they're being tasked to track international interlopers. They may have even already done so. The VTOL is clearly extremely heavily armed, and meant for serious air to air and air to ground combat. Oddly, despite the tech level, there's only a small missile payload, of the 'bunker buster' variety, and most of the loadout is given to gun coverage and vast quantities of high-calibre ammo, of the local electromagnetic paradigm. Despite the fact that it's bright white, it looks to have been designed with stealth in mind by its profile, and the armour is something visually unfamiliar to him at a glance. It doesn't look like a prototype, but it looks expensive; there can't be a whole fleet of these lying around on runways across the country. Nobody suspects him at all. He gets, at most, a chuckle from a bored watcher. He plays the part too well.
Trudy Grimm	While the abundance of bodies who have been ushered on by proper final rites might frustrate early attempts at finding good ghosts to chat with-- Trudy is unbothered by it. In fact, by the look on her face, this is something she finds to be more of a relief than an annoyance. Brightly, she comments, "These men weren't forgotten. They were helped along to their rest properly, even if their bodies were left out here to bleach in the sun and feed the animals." Eyes closing, she brightly adds, "It's not as if they had much use for them, so it works out. Even a properly buried corpse is going to feed something or other, after all." Occasionally, scattered bones are swallowed up by her shadow. Untethered as they are, the witch can't help herself. Someone in her line of work is always looking for more materials, after all, but she at least tries to avoid being too greedy. When at last her voice reaches spirits who have not yet moved along, Trudy steps up to greet them with her usual sincere smile, hands held out to either side, "Ahh, we found you! Thank you for coming out to meet with us. Gosh, but you fellows certainly have been through a lot." Her head tilts slightly to one side, "While I would like very much to ask how you came to rest here and help you move on, or finish unfinished business if that is your wish-- my companion..." Arthur collapses, interrupting Trudy's line of thought when she glances at him. It takes her a second to connect the dots and she can't help but laugh. She gets her jabs in through the radio while returning her attention to the apparitions, "Ahem~. I'll ask my piece of you later. For now, my companion-- this generous priestess, had some things she would like to discuss with you first and foremost." By way of introduction, Trudy bows, then steps aside to give the fox the spotlight. She'll instead shift over to Arthur and offer him her hand to help him up, mercifully free of meddling weasels. The weasels are still there, though. Lurking.
Lilian Rook	People seem to pay Rita equally little mind (except perhaps for being distractingly short and cute), up until the exact minute she tries to enter the compound itself. She is unfortunately stopped by the mythical half-competent door check, who don't really have to monitor that many people and don't already know her name, and so bounce her from door surfing so that she shows ID and uses her keycard to get in, which she totally, definitely has. This being the most ignoble and pointless of obstacles to progress is brushed aside by Lilian gliding up next to her in a fake officer's uniform and exuding vastly more ice cold and commanding expectation-to-be-obeyed than any of the officers here could hope to put on. Still, it's a little uncanny how the guards immediately believe and obey her taking refuge in audacity and opening the doors based on raw hostile impatience making it implicit that Rita entering is normal and too uncomfortable to ask. Inside is surprisingly toasty. It was clearly once a very barebones concrete and aluminium bunker, but has since been filled with the assorted asks of paying soldiers still pretty close to civilization, up to the point she can scrape her boots on a doormat and pass by a break room with old sofas and an aquarium. The deeply artificial and inconsistent lighting makes it feel a little surreal and very 'warmly closed in'. From what she can gather of the layout, there's an entire lower basement floor solely dedicated to various branches of 'people touching computers', taking full advantage of Siberian mountain cooling. The ground floor is for the monitoring staff, data capture, 'sample collection', rec and mess, and the upper floor is all bunks, offices, a board room, an armoury, hard files and records, and material pertaining to its original Antegent study function.
Ishirou	Damn...this spec ops stuff is getting to be annoying. Requiring him to gather so much data in so many places to try and piece together something. On the other hand, it was like a game and he was, despite his protests, enjoying it very much. So they are looking for something here. Everyone assumes it's foreign agents, but... Is it really? This monitoring station could scan so much area, that nothing would escape their views, and enough tech is here that it should be cracked in no time. He takes a moment to try and see if he can hack the aircraft and try and figure out their flight plans. Maybe he can wedge a bit more information out. Of course, there is the matter of the magical items and the fact they're being secured so heavily from... Then he detects the massive magical energy out there. No wait, two signals. He looks at the magical boxes again. They can't be monsters out there, they don't have magical sources like people do.
Tamamo	When the corpses are raised, Tamamo's attention turns to the ones that weren't, thoughtfully. Her train of thought is broken by Arthur falling down. Already on the alert for a curse, she steps over with a sense of alarm that quickly fades to a simmer, as she unbuttons one of the pockets on her coat to retrieve a folded piece of paper. "Are you quite alright, Mr. Lowell?" Evidently not. "Ah, does your stomach trouble you? Perhaps if you... well, I hope I am not too intrusive." She offers him the paper. It's some powdered medicine, with the paper folded to keep it neatly contained, or to pour it out. If mixed with tea, it would settle one's stomach. If alchemized with anything else, the results are uncertain, but it probably can't be taken straight, in that form. It even looks like an alchemy ingredient. With an apologetic smile, she straightens, and turns back to the raised spirits. "It would seem that others have come and performed the necessary rites, after all. When I heard that all were to be left where they lay, I had thought it would this courtesy had gone unperformed. It is well that I was mistaken in this," she nods to Trudy, "though it leaves me curious as to the remaining reasons." The necromancer steps aside, and Tamamo steps forward. "Oh, hello. I suppose you would not know of me, but I am known as Tamamo-no-mae." Sunnily. "I and my companions were first called to assist your countrymen at the behest of one Commander Volkov, to slay a 'dragon' of Siberia, and now we return, once more, amidst preparations to enter the mountains that separate one land from another. On hearing that were those as could not be returned, who had fallen outside the walls of the cities that were their own homes, I grew concerned, and so, I have to come to meet with those that I may. For your own part, would you wish for those rites as have laid your comrades to rest? Ah, but now I wonder, was it the people of the city who have done so? I admit some ignorance on this subject, but among those far to the East, it would be strange for such rites to be performed without 'priests.' I suppose, then, that I have more than a few questions. Please pardon me in this." Not one to let the appearances of the dead bother her -- or, at least, not one to reveal the degree to which she's bothered by appearances, as horribly impolite as that would be -- Tamamo approaches, soft footsteps in snow. "Allow me to summarize these rambling thoughts, if you would. First, as I suspected a curse kept others from approaching the site of your rest, I had hopes that you might tell me of any curses as have befallen you. I am quite skilled in the breaking of such, you see." She counts by curling gloved fingers. "Second, might you tell me of such priests as would be expected to perform your rites, if they are of your knowledge? If not, might you know of what did happen, here? Third, and close to the second, do you know of any others who have passed through this place? In particular, I would know of those who are not of the city. Fourth and lastly, if your time here has granted you word of the vily I would appreciate your report on this matter."
Rita Ma	"Oh! I'm sorry! Of course," says Rita, reaching into her pocket for a very legitimate ID made of tentacle flesh that is currently printing itself. But that won't work as a keycard. I'll pretend it's broken, shed this wrapping, have it wander off as a decoy, stay invisible here until someone else opens the door, and- Lilian shows up, and all those racing thoughts dissolve as Rita breathes a little sigh of relief. She can't say 'Thanks, Ms. Rook!' here, but she's definitely thinking it very loudly as she slips on through. Aside from stopping for a little while to gawk at the aquarium- so cute!- Rita has a solid idea of where she's going: the upper floor. 'Sample collection' sounds interesting, but it's not nearly as important as getting her hands on those records. Rita trudges up the first staircase she can find, evincing 'knowing where she's going' and 'mild exhaustion' as best she can. The technician disguise is less likely to blend in with an office setting, so she trades it for an officer outfit like Lilian's while she's alone on the stairwell, giving herself a couple extra inches of height, somewhat more distinguished features, and a folder tucked under one arm in the process. She's trying to look- as inconspicuously as she can- for paper records pertaining to 'Operation Winter Hazel', or failing that the Urals in general, or failing that whatever information they have on the people they're supposedly spying on. Rita only spares a moment to cursorily glance over them; a bit of illusory sleight-of-hand can see them replaced with fleshy copies, with the originals secreted away in her growing folder.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Accept HELP Arthur's gonna snatch that alchemy ingredient for sure, thanks Tamamo! He captchalogues it into his sylladex, wishing so much that he could just pour it down his throat, or at least into a hearty big-gulp of Mountain Dew(tm) Gamer Substance(tm). He wobbles to his feet with help from Trudy, and mostly stays in his loosely-sick loosely-sicknasty mode, giving her an unsteady grin and a thumbs-up. "Yeahhhhh." >Arthur: Okay, do SOMETHING besides taxi people around "Yeah holmes, what'chu know about Hazel?" His voice manages to unsteadily wobble the words over to the ghosts (who he's careful to not look directly at). "Gotta bet that name's making some ripples around the spirits lately, for real." He holds his hand to his mouth, shuts his eyes tight, and fights off another heave, finally steadying himself properly and patting Trudy on the shoulder in a silent indication of "all good now".
James Bond	Bond flicks his cigarette away, picking up the backpack with a certain affected resignation--that of someone on the clock with yet more work to do. He ends up ditching it off the beaten path, careful to retrieve the decanter of samogon from the netting on the side. His next task, mixed in with 'getting back to work,' is taking a look around. As he joins the other soldiers in what amounts to glorified chores, he looks for signs of the volkhv's presence, first starting with 'obviously Enlightened fixtures' and eventually working his way towards the interior of the compound. Bond manages to find a more appropriate carrying case for the spirit, as funny as walking around a top-secret military base with a vintage liquor in hand would be. Tucked into a nondescript metal carrying case, it looks vaguely more 'work appropriate.' With case in hand, he manages to look purposeful. In the event he needs it, he's got a working keycard. He's also got a convincing 'rural bumpkin' act in case he's stopped on the way, a salt-of-the-earth type looking to 'meet the wise one.'
Lilian Rook	The picture Tamamo gets from the dead is something unusual. A little-a-lot bleak. And something that she'll be glad she asked, for how much of her effort it'll save eventually. From what she can figure out, the purification of souls has been the same outward march that had lead Bond to spy old-school camps of some kind left permanently along the river. Old powers wielded anew that were never present at the nuclear power plant operation. Few believe in god anymore; most are glad to be sent on their way by whatever will do without questions of theology. The fallen left on inhuman ground seldom make it back otherwise. From what the ghosts communicate to her about the rest, silently, coldly, skin-crawlingly, is nothing that sounds like a curse. From what they remember in their time out in the field, surrounded by the dead, before they were felled in turn, approaching the dead is forbidden for the risk of being lured by fakes. The way she reads it from them sounds eerily similar to what she'd heard from younger, fresher, and drunker soldiers on the town, about the ironclad rule that There Is No One Outside The Walls. It feels like a secret. Something nobody was supposed to know, yet which all fighting men figure out on their own, the trickle of information impossible to stamp out, and maybe undesirable to do so anyways; all the better that they know nothing other than the precise open secrets that will keep them alive. Outside of once having the intention of watching the roads for reasons they can't remember, the ghosts only have dim recollections of the Enlightened here that 'live with the land', and have reached the point of hoping to see them again soon. They don't know anywhere near enough about magic to specify anything in particular though. They haven't seen anyone unrelated to the Urban Center come in and out, save the odd, probably executive military flight. And on the last topic, they share a little bit of folklore: That the name in question is a kind of mountain or cloud spirit from old folklore. Something like a fairy, something like a valkyrie; powerful creatures of magic that live in the sky, meddle with humans for various purposes, transform into various creatures, revel together in groups, are known to be obsessed with battle and skilled in healing arts, and attracted to strong warriors, often the patron of old heroes. Arthur's question is met with a different kind of confused silence tha they usually are. Eventually, they inform him, in a kind of 'broken' silent language of bleary memories and dim recognition, unable to form clear associations after death, that they had no knowledge of anything involving hazels in life, but since then, it has lingered on the minds of unusual numbers of soldiers heading west. And, more relevantly, they think they can 'hear' something 'speaking' from the same direction. 'Calling', or 'asking the world questions'. They feel vaguely compelled to seek it for reasons beyond their comprehension.
Lilian Rook	The VTOL's flight plans, laid bare to Ishirou, indicate it had flown here from the western edge of the old Russian borders. That means crossing the mountains that are the main buzz right now. Probably from whatever the capital came, in fact. It's heading to different administrative territories in turn on a slow schedule. His best guess for the boxes would be props or materials, or something else of use to a significantly skilled Enlightened, but which would be considered 'contraband' for anyone else, if the international pattern holds. The soldiers are allowed to handle them casually with the implicit understanding that they sure as hell won't be opening them. The magical signatures at the end of the backpath are closely mingled, but one is definitely human, and fairly powerful. The other is more concentrated and intense --more 'pure' magic-- but isn't something he's scanned before.
Trudy Grimm	The answer is given to Tamamo's and Arthur's questions while Trudy stands by, waiting her turn. Her interest is, by contrast, purely academic. She finds joy in learning the stories of those who passed, after all. And in turn, this can help those who died find closure and move on as well. That's what she's interested in. But it's the indistinct answer Arthur gets that draws her more into the conversation before she had planned to. "A voice calling you to the west, you say?" the witch cradles her chin in thought, "And are you inclined to answer that call? I can give you the means to go there, if you like. To see this siren who calls to you with your own eyes." Her shadow expands as she produces the Grimoire from within her fluffy weasel coat, the buckle unfastening, the pages unfurling until the Death rune projects above them; Eiwaz, shining in sickly green. From her deepening shadow emerges three figures. Husks, empty shells assembled from spare parts. Tamamo might recognize them from the incident in Strawberry Princess' London. Inanimate versions of the Soldiers that Trudy fielded that day. No light shines behind the cracked lenses of their gas masks. No crystals protrude from ragged tears in their heavy jackets and pants. "I offer you this," Trudy states brightly to the spirits, "If you'll become my cute new friends and join me on this journey. It will help keep you anchored. Give you a way to take action. A way to fight again. Like this, we can go together." The Grimoire snaps shut, extinguishing the glow of Eiwaz, "Alternatively: I understand you have already fought quite hard and may wish to rest. And I will help you find that peace as your brothers have, if that is your wish. Else, you may remain here, standing guard until your watch is finally through." "It is a choice I offer to each of you."
Lilian Rook	Following Ishirou's information, it's not too hard for Bond to piece together a trail. The volkhv is probably long term staff here. Possibly predating the outpost's current purpose. Everyone seems to move in ways that suggest flowing around their habitual circuit, and never bring them up, which means they're old news. The mass import of things for them to use implies they'll probably be getting very active around the time the main operation launches. Their excursion alone over the mountainside indicates they probably don't associate lots with the soldiers, and if there is a víla here, they'd be the only one capable of keeping contact with it. The way the soldiers spoke of 'blessings' and all, it's quite probable that the government is even tapping the non-human Enlightened around the continent for this operation as well, as best they are able. To meet them, it'd probably be most sane to wait for their return, as it would be supremely suspicious to sneak back out there alone and probably against orders. The few he speaks to in the guise of 'yet another new hire' shrug it off and say they'll be back in a few hours maybe. They don't give him the impression that the volkhv is someone who especially dislikes being approached. He can lie in wait until then.
Lilian Rook	"You're welcome. And don't try to do everything yourself when you're not that certain about how it all works; you'll get more done and help more people if you work with the experts a little you know." Such goes the answer to Rita's 'thinking very hard'. Lilian has apparently picked up, from absorbing the mental whispers of the soldiers around, that it'll be very simple for Rita to go upstairs as long as she's accompanied by another officer as a double check supervision. The two walking closely, Lilian slightly behind and watching, elicits little notice from anyone; the most that happens is that someone comments that she looks tired, and that if she's fresh up the mountain, she should hit bed early and focus on recovering from her travel. The security protocols are fairly legitimate without getting much in anyone's way, but there is a significant deal of faith that nobody would even be here if they weren't military in the first place, and certainly nobody suspects shapeshifters in this snowed-in remote outpost . . . Acquiring access to the record room, Lilian splits the workload by rapidly bulldozing through the vast stacks of laminated files and the archive computer to sift out all the irrelevant topics she'd recognize with local knowledge, and pass everything potentially applicable on to Rita. It's a pretty efficient and companiable flow. Most of what there is to say about the famous mountains isn't much different from what the soldiers in town told her. There are records of the years of desperate picket line operations holding back the tide of Antegent that demolished most of Europe and had begun to move east, but very little is known about the zone now, save an exhaustive list of documented Antegent confirmed to be destroyed, some of unknown status, and some still alive from thirty six years ago that they have reason to believe. True enough, the latter case is a dreadful menagerie of Demon and Dragon class, with one Location Unknown Titan class in there too. The soldiers have good reason to be nervous. It seems even more unlikely now that anyone could live in that area, now a graveyard of millions. There are some useful records on the capabilities of foreign interventionist from several still-powerful countries, extrapolated out to the present day with the best knowledge of the bloc's Enlightened capabilities they have. The silently circled and underscored theory for her is that the stray traces that have been reported or captured would most closely match American-deployed small mobile groups. It's clearer to her, being similar to what she already knows of the attack on Caelton and the following revenge hit in Nevada. It seems that the MO is similar, but the purpose and projects are unrelated. Rather, she gets the vague impression that these ones must be more skilled at it.
Lilian Rook	Operation Winter Hazel seems to be barely noted. She can find a reasonably informative timetable of the whole thing, with partial disclosure of major troop and specialists movements from where and when. Combined with the prior information, it gives her the feeling that the operation is specifically being lead in such a way that it is simultaneously as difficult to infiltrate or impede as possible, as if they're expecting not just outside sabotage, but competition over whatever their objective is. Mainly, she can verify that there are data logs from this facility that were classified as 'Antegent observation' data, from the far west, but upon further research of an Antegent powerful enough to read all the way out here, they've been marked pending reclassification. It's something about 'coded noise' that they haven't succeeded in decrypting, and can't figure out a regular schedule for, or an intended receiving point. Rita can guess that they've been secretly triangulating it across all the early warning stations of all the Urban Centers for a while now, even if it doesn't say so. And she could make an informed leap of logic that 'west' must mean the very same mountains they're planning to push into, even if the public reason is a very sensible line about reclamation and rejoining the halves of the country. When she starts making copies though, Lilian does ask "Why not simply keep those and leave the originals where no one will realize what they're made of?", innocently confused.
Lilian Rook	Trudy can choose whether to find it surprising or utterly the opposite, that the soldiers here who have either been left behind or adamantly remained, accept her proposition without hesitation. Whatever dreary husks she can give them as bodies are better than the mangled state they must be inside the walker, and having no particular purpose anymore, going to the 'voice' might be something that counts as 'completing unfinished business', at least psychologically. It's a good offer. And besides. They want to know. They have the gut feeling that it's somehow important.