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Bloody Revelations     Thorns is much the same as it was before. To the ordinary observer, anyways. Approaching from the distance (it seems few to no Warpgates drop right inside cities here), that entails the same dreary, depressing, and faintly ominous sights as before. Getting closer to the stark square walls, stripped of any and all livery and ornamentation, it's as if a filter slowly passes over the world. The soil turns from thick brown to dusty grey. The grass withers and trees grow stunted. The sky fades into the colour of washed out lead, and the sound of the wind dies. The ocean to the west, crystal blue from far away, slowly descends into deep black, its crashing waves becoming a dull rumble. Smoke rises on the horizon, behind the walls, thick and oily as if it belongs to the industrial revolution of London, rather than a city so ostensibly high-Renaissance.

    Multiple things had been discovered last time. The focus seems to be on the place's designation as a 'Shadowland'; a place that closely overlaps with Creation's Underworld, such that the two are barely separated by day, and one and the same by night. The Mask of Winters, undead tyrant of this conquered city state, has his legions of ghosts keep total control on the population, invisible to the populace.

    His army, previously though to be 'one of the top five in Creation, but ostensibly weaker than the army coming to knock his door down', is apparently a thing only half visible. His legions of zombies, hardened mortal troops, and ghost lieutenants wearing the corpses of men, walk the streets in the daylight, but there have been indications that other things lie beyond the Shadowland's borders, deeper inside the Underworld, where nobody of Creation can safely tread.

    This means that those who further pursue the campaign of espionage against him have to arrive by the setting of the sun, where night will align the two worlds, and then leaving the Shadowland's borders will take them to the other realm. Conversely, they will have to be back before dawn as well. There's no real telling what might be there. Thorns is already gloomy, depressing, and clearly broken and defeated by day. The only reassurance anything anyone is doing is the right idea is the dropoff of mysteriously unidentified magic rings.

    Because of the Shadowland's circular(ish) spread, there are roughly three directions it can be left from, giving someone a head start into an area of the surrounding Underworld (though not excluding anyone from joining each other, or going in order). The OCEAN to the west, the FORESTS to the south, and the very distant MOUNTAINS to the north.
Ice King     IN THE PRESENT...

    A ghost stands over a pile of wreckage inside Thorns, ice and snow all around. He gasps in realization, points suddenly and says, "Hey! I know that guy!"

    But wait! Our story doesn't start here! We must go back! Back to the The Past!
Ice King     A FEW DAYS AGO...

    Sitting on an ice sofa, a wizard scowls. All around him, colorful and bizarre shapes and monsters cavort, frollick, and some of them even gimble. A thing with lots of arms and a a tongue for a head crawls up onto the couch and tries to lick Ice King and he recoils in disgust, swatting at the thing ineffectively as his hands pass right through it. "Ugh! Gross! I don't want any of that kind of action!"

    He gets up and moves to a different room, to find a squirming mass of eyes and tentacles in his path he has to hop over to avoid stumbling. "Whoah!" Some gross thin creature runs through spraying green ooze everywhere and dousing the ice wizard despite his attempts to shield himself.

    "Waaaah! Bleeecchhh! It technically got in my mouth! The worst kind of technicality!" He flees while covering his head, as a multi-colored yammering silhouette runs screaming after him. When even the bathroom isn't safe from weird monsters, as evidenced by a hairy blob creature with huge, staring eyes and sharp teeth sitting on the back of the toilet, Ice King just stands there frowning deeply.

    The hair-creature stares back at him breathing heavily and wheezily.

    Ice King stares back, his bushy eyebrows a solid line of Not Pleased.

    The hairy-thing stares even more intensely, sucking in breaths between its razor sharp teeth.

    The ooze creature sprays Ice King again from behind and he flinches. "THAT'S IT!" he yells, throwing his hands up. He turns to the completely empty room, his penguin Gunther watching all this and seeing none of what Ice King is seeing. "I need a break from all this, Goontz!" He heads to his bedroom, throws some spare robes, a picture of Princess Bubblegum made out of macaroni noodles, and a green frog alarm clock into a battered suitcase, and then returns to the living room.

    "Daddy's going on vacation now, so you're in charge of the house until I get back! Try to get rid of all these hooligans before then, would ya'?"

    Then Ice King flaps his beard and flies out the window.

    Gunther just looks around at the uninhabited castle, and lets out an ambivalent, "Wenk."

    As Ice King flies through the air, he mutters to himself. "There's gotta' be a way to get rid of all this... This... Tom-Foolery before it escalates to Tim-Foolery! Ice King's crib is not no Fool Time, no siree! I wonder if there's anywhere out there with people who know how to deal with weird visions and voices and what not." He taps his chin in thought, suitcase strapped to his back. "Somewhere where they deal with ghosts and spirits on the regular and don't let them sass back or barf heads in your lap! Somewhere like--"

    "Come to the underworld!"

    Ice King slows his flight. "Huh?" He looks down at some guy hopping up and down below on a hill-top.
Ice King     "Come to the underworld!" the goblin-looking thing calls out again.

    Ice King flies down to meet him. "What?"

    "I saaaaid~ come to the underworld!" the green guy repeats for Ice King.

    "Wha? Whatfor? I've got enough problems with dead people, alright? I've got a whole basement full of 'em! My castle's lousy with bodies! Can't turn around without TRIPPING BODIES, okay!" he gestures indicatively back in the direction of Ooo.

    The goblin just looks from side to side through all that, then when Ice King is done, responds, "Yeah-huh, but you'd like to get RID of them, riiiiight?" The goblin-thing raises an eyebrow slowly.

    "Well, yeah!" Ice King responds indignantly, propping his hands on his hips. Then he drops them again. "Why, you got a lead on some Goblin Ghost Repellant or somethin'?"

    "Noooo, GENIUS! They have ghosts all the time in the Underworld, so they've got to know how to get rid of them!"

    Ice King pauses in confusion. "But wait, if they know how to get rid of them then why--"

    "No time! They're running out of anti-ghost stuff! Go now!" the goblin insists.

    Ice King flies away frantically and down into a giant cavernous hole in the ground through which free-roaming souls keep being drawn in. "Aw, dangit! No way am I getting cheated on free stuff AGAIN!"

    After Ice King is gone, the goblin fiddles his fingers together and laughs menacingly before setting off for the Ice Kingdom.
Ice King     A SHORT TIME AGO...

    There is an ice cream stand set up in Thorns, with some very unprofessional looking snow and ice globs on sticks on display, and 'Fitty Cents' scrawled on the front of the stand. Some old guy with a very bushy beard in a 50s-styled ice cream vendor outfit is standing behind it, selling ice cream to dead people. "Ice cream. Ice cream. Come get yer ice cream." He sighs and leans on his elbow on the counter. "How'm I ever supposed to afford the TOP-QUALITY anti-ghost stuff selling ice cream to THESE chumps?" Some ghost guy walks (or floats!?) up and asks, "Ice cream stand, huh? Is ice cream what you're selling, or your NAME? Haha!"

    "Yeah, real funny, mac. You got fifty cents or not?" Ice King asks, unimpressed.

    The ghost guy starts searching himself for whatever 'cents' are while Ice King glances over at some female ghosts passing by. He perks up, waving and calling out. "Yo, LADIES! I've got a discount over here for the LAdies!"

    They pause only briefly to look at him before going on their way.

    He leans over the counter to look after them. "'C'mon! Half-off in exhance for a smooch! That's a good deal, right?" He sighs and leans on his elbow again. "Probably wouldn't have been able to feel it anyway." he grumbles.

    He lets out yet another sigh. "If only there were some adventurers around I could go on a zany quest with. Where are Finn and Jake when you need them for a change?"
Starbound Flotilla     The Starbound Flotilla are here once again.

"Same plan as the last time?"
"Worked the last time. Focus on the source of the edge."
"This is by far the friendliest I have seen you two in years."
"Awkward. This is the only time in years they've agreed on the same goal."
"Aye, but could ye expect anything else? Gets both their obsessions in one."
"Mmmh. Floran doesssn't like either. Kill it isss good."

    They've slipped into the city again, and split up yet again. This time, Albert seems even more intense, even more /tense/, because of the fact that he can now properly see the oppressive surveillance state at work here. Once more, he and his group are well-equipped in the shabby faux-refugee asiatic robes, meant to look as harmless and destitute as the thousands who no doubt pass into here daily. He's going to be handling the bulk of this for the Flotilla, who he has ordered to disperse through the city to make sure nobody sees them talking.

    In a society like this, Albert well knows that you can't be seen talking to each other, you can't be seen gathering, you can't be seen moving with purpose. You have to look fearful, you have to look calm in a way that is somewhat despairing or at a loss. So when the panopticon truly descends on them, Albert intends to go right under the radar... And leave the decaying chunk of scanner they put on the roof active remotely, of course! The plan is just the same as before: Identify a zone of industry (especially with that odd black ore), then rush it and try to acquire some understanding of where Thorns is getting its edge.
Batou Batou's used to many things. Technology, hackers, thugs, terrorists. But how in the hell was he supposed to train for the underworld?

"Mr. Batou, you never told me we would be meeting... ghosts!" the Tachikoma said, shuddering. "Heh, don't worry buddy. These ghosts got nothing on us! We're Section 9, we can handle this!"

Of course that was a damn lie, he was downright leery! Ghosts! Shit! He looked at the orb in his hand, and how the world transformed around them. For the first time in several years, Batou gulped.
Gawain Sir Gawain is here, in shining armor despite the fact he has no sun boost due to it being night. His sword is hilted at his side, and he's heading in from the forests to the south, moving to head into the Underworld. One could consider this espionage. Gawain does not - he considers this seeing the other side of Thorns, and is going to attempt to ask the ghosts questions. Perhaps some of them are shackled as well! Or perhaps the Mask of Winters isn't as much of a tyrant as he appears? Gawain's not entirely sure.

Either way, as he approaches the Underworld, Gawain's looking for whatever may count as 'border guards', already reaching for his Paladins ID and his driver's license. That should be enough, right?
All-Seeing Eye A few yards away from Batou, a tall figure waves towards him, beckoning him silently. His skin is shock white, his hair long and black. From his long coat, to his turtleneck, to his slacks... virtually the only part of him that isn't black, grey or white is his eyes, which are a bright and vibrant gold. He's standing near the figure in plate mail, and once it looks like he's gotten Batou's attention, he turns around.

     Walking alongside Gawain, he sees what the knight's doing without having to turn his head. Thanks, 360 degree vision! His soft, pale lips curl into a distasteful frown. "Gawain, darling," he says under his breath. "Surely you see the problems posed by making our presence here obvious." Something tells him this is entirely the wrong person to be asking that particular question, but maybe he can just... nudge Gawain towards a more subtle approach.

     Of course, the Soulsteel caste is all too used to cleaning up after the messes of others. He sighs, one hand reaching up to slip on an ushanka to hide the champagne-colored gem embedded in his forehead. Pale skin, dark hair, dark clothing--this should help him pass as an Abyssal, and at least lend /some/ credence to whatever blatant tim-foolery Gawain wants to pull.

     As one final touch, the Exalt reveals the Charms integrated into his body, each one a soulsteel cybernetic far in advance of the average bit of Necrotech.
Miari Miari is taking her approach from before, though this time she's seen fit to re-decorate her medicine wagon - this time, drawn by some robot simulacra horses rented from a Concord roboticist, with a Neomah that's taking human guise as her male driver, dressed as a fairly typical Guild driver would be. She had some BAD experiences bringing living horses here, but is unwilling to go around town with a skeletal horse-drawn wagon. It would offend her sensibilities!

    This time she's seen fit to alter her advertisements, and stock up on even more medicines. This time, all the merchantry airs are pretty well gone. She's a stock of medicines, but the advertisements are replaced with messages beseeching anyone who needs medical help, this is a charity mission from some far-off organization of healers from so far away she doubts anyone can fact check on whether it exists or not.

    She isn't a terribly subtle young woman, and doesn't expect to be any good at being stealthy. So just gathering information her own way will have to do...

    Even as the wagon rolls down streets lit by pyre flame lanterns, reeking of vivacious life.
Azure Armature EARLIER

There was a box of minor artifacts used for detection and interaction with the city of Thorns' "Shadowlands" provided by a (not so) Mysterious Benefactor. This was entirely within expectations for a certain blue-haired woman wearing a scarf and camouflage poncho, waiting by a tree in the forest for the passage of time to tick.

Using binocular vision, she watches random townspeople trade with dirtfarmers, checks the patrol routes and hardpoints of any town guards, and wonders where the town hides all of the lever-pullers. Deciding decides that this is especially boring and not fruitful to intelligence gathering on Thorns OR the Mask of Winter, she mentally accellerated her perception of time, crouched on her little outcropping in the woods and watching the little people move at fast-forward speed.

This remained boring until near-sundown.

NOW

Tapping her ear lightly, she begins subvocalizing. "I've completed my recon of the area, and night is falling. I'm ready to begin my infiltration, and am waiting at the rendesvous location you provided." She sends on the Secure Frequency to her Contact. A 'local expert', she had zeroed in just briefly to give a quick introduction before zipping off to get a better idea of the lay of the land.

Now she had that idea, and the shadowlands were opening up.

Were there an existing threat to her mission in this town, or a force of the Void present within creation, there would need to be a lot of purging done before the land was ready to recieve any refugees. But something gave her the impression that she wasn't dealing with her garden variety apostates and gremlins. Connecting with the local humans and assemblies was a natural answer. As for the city...

Well, once her rendesvous was completed she could simply blink in.
Tomoe There was a floor in SAO like this, the dead or mimics of all the dead appeared on it. She didn't like this feeling at all, she didn't like it. She had not been on the earlier operations to Thorns due to dealing with other matters she had given her word to be there for, however now? She was here to make up for lost time. She did not like Bloody Revelations but? She was right clearing the board of the lunatics would get them both towards what they wanted. She knew someday there would be a showdown but that was far in the future. One step at a time and this was another step to help the people here. She really couldn't ignore it after all creation had a special type of horror for her, all the things her world used to think were true were.

She had hooked up with Miari and shes done her best to keep a lower profile today her armour is more generic dirty andd older looking rather than her custom set she normally wore. and her own deal is she's one of the guards hired for this job and is the body guard for this mission she seems uneasy though.
Batou Upon seeing Eye and Gawain hit the scene, Batou immediately rolls over to them. Not that he's afraid or anything...
Bloody Revelations     As before, the people of Thorns themselves, the broken, hollow-eyed, gaunt-faced survivors of its violent taking many years ago, are of no threat to anyone. They are second class citizens, being squeezed for their remaining usefulness in the daylight hours of Creation, working as slaves of desk and craft as much as slaves elsewhere would be doing backbreaking work in a mine or farm, but no better off for it. They recognize very well that their 'benevolent leader' is waiting for them to wear out and die so he can turn their flesh into a more useful zombie and bind their spirit into a more useful ghost. They know they are slowly being starved and worked to death by inches, and that they are powerless to stop it.

    It's difficult to compare them to even the most oppressive regimes of human history. Even under Nazi occupation, the French had some fight and those sent to the camps had some kind of desparate fire about them. These men and women (there are almost no children, which could be for any number of mildly to majorly ominous reasons) know that their ruler is not human, and their ruler is not defeatable. They want no trouble from anyone, and it's doubtful any of them even notice the few Elites who walk amongst them.

    Standing inside of the heart of the Shadowlands, either in Thorns or in the closest miles around it, the setting of the sun does to the view of the lands beyond as approaching Thorns had done to the view of itself. The filter that had left the world overcast, muted and grey deepens into its second stage. Looking far into the distance, there is no longer green and blue beyond the horizon.

    When the last rays of the sun depart, the grey dust that had taken the place of soil becomes black soot. The dulled ocean roar gones completely silent, and the waves go smooth and still, lapping at bone white shores. The sky is much the same at night, save that every single star in the heavens is completely different; an entirely new canvas of constellations completely alien to Creation. Very, very far in the distance, to the east, something bright shines in the sky roughly analogous to a moon, but clearly not.
Bloody Revelations     As this transition takes place, the ghosts that could be only seen before, now become substantial, phasing into existence as real, tangible people. They aren't transparent white spectres or floating apparitions, they have some colour and substance and solidity to them, albeit less than a real person; these ghosts are largely well fed on human emotions and prayer. They walk the streets as the /real/ citizens of Thorns, enjoying the night as the living would the day anywhere else, going through the elaborate motions of extraneous daily routine, to re-experience the sensation of being part of a living community.

    Aside from being creepily pale and quiet and surreal, however, they are of no bother to anyone. At least most of them. Amongst them, possibly every 1 in 100, there are ghosts that bear porceline white masks that obscure their faces entirely, painted with a decorative smile, watching every corner and junction as they have all day, only visible now. At a greater ratio, are armed guards. The real guards, not the flesh and blood decorative stooges at the gates. Ghosts with fanciful weapons of bone and black iron. /These/ ones actually bother to check Gawain's ID, as terrible of an idea as it possibly is to show it at all. They of course have no concept of the Paladins or their mission statement, and so they mostly just silently let him pass as an informant no doubt goes to the court to have it looked into.

    Bizarrely, it is these ghostly citizens that buy Miari's wares by the armful (and very occasionally, someone wants to know what the hell ice cream is). Where the living could only scowl at crucial medicines at prices they couldn't afford, the dead purchase them in quantity despite having /no/ possible need of them, making a grand show of talking to their friends and loved ones (and even co-dead family members) about stocking up on this or that and about fever and allergy seasons as if it were even possible for them to get sick. They universally pay in tiny coins of wrought black jade, with little onyx gems set into them, which tingle with teeny tiny quantities of magic. It's a useful way to actually get currency that is /useful/ here. All-Seeing Eye has had time to scope the place out as explained dramatically off-screen.
Bloody Revelations     Leaving for the FORESTS, Gawain finds the line of trees has become thick, black, twisted, and utterly impenetrable, suddenly lit with luminous fungus and alien flowers that had never been there before, making for a surreal, dark Wonderland aesthetic. Though Thorns is lined up near-perfectly as it is in the day, the land around it is all kinds of off-kilter and variably different, similar but not quite the same. Those are quite a ways off though.

    What's more immediately worrisome is what's between him and the trees: a war camp. A very large one too, blatantly obvious beyond the borders the people of Thorns cannot leave, and nobody else dares cross. It looks like it's still in the early stages, being assembled day by day as arms are forged and troops are pressed, but it already includes hundreds of war ghosts, thousands of freshly minted walking corpses, scores of grotesque siege engines (the same kinds as Denandsor for the most part, being things like catapults using giant undead arms, and siege ladders that are really human centipede-esque chains of walking torsos). They build around camps of green flame, where the undead wander and chitter, and the ghosts feign the lives of restless soldiers, as if they had need to sleep and eat rations.
Bloody Revelations     Leaving for signs of INDUSTRY, the Flotilla wind up at something even more impossible to ignore. The shipments they had found coming from nowhere are most certainly coming from the north, crossing the border from the underworld to Thorns and back by night, where mortal smiths work during the day. The convoys are huge, overwhelmingly draw by skeletal horses and larger, almost dinosaur-like beasts covered in riveted black iron, carting piles of ore and bones from a massive pit dug not far in the distance.

    It's surrounded by thousands of workers, most being tireless and expendable undead, but overseen by ghost foremen, and even some especially nasty looking humans in elite guard armour, probably the Mask's 'specially favoured' troops (i.e. traitors). It's a military-industrial scale project, not easy by any means to sabotage with a small group, and blatantly impossible for whatever resistance Thorns might have. Aside from the echoes of pickaxes, uncanny, unearthly wailing can sometimes be heard rising from the deep, spiraling pit.

    Worse, beyond that, one of the mountains has moved closer, or so it seems at first glance. This mountain though, is not one of stone. Drawing closer, the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh and putrefying organs becomes utterly unmistakable, if not completely intolerable. The buzzing hive of industry and military coordination comes not from the palace in the city, but a gargantuan, probably mobile, monolith of undead flesh; some long-dead beast so large it defies description, bent to crawl across the earth on its hands and knees and bowed beneath the colossal weight of an entire citadel built on its back, ten times as populated and productive as Thorns itself, to which most of the 'non-civilian' ghosts seem to retreat. It takes a while for the brain to register the looming silhouette in the dark. Even from the south and from the forest line where Azure watches, it can be seen for miles, albeit far less clearly.
Bloody Revelations     And finally, there is one last thing that had happened dramatically off-screen. When dark falls and the other world blends into this one, someone materializes more or less beside the Alchemical Operator by her position of tactical surveillance for the day. It isn't any fancy magic; merely 'riding' the merging of the two worlds. Where the might of thorns smells like rot and fire and furnace smoke, and feels like slow, grinding, existential despair, the particular character of death in this little corner is very different. Funeral incense and grave flowers, and cold, blood-chilling malice.

    "You've hardly moved from the spot all day. You're a patient one. That already sets you apart from the others, even aside the fact that you actually sought to ask for my expertise. You'd think that'd be logical, right? To just ask the person who knows. Yet, I haven't seen one of them put logic over their feelings once so far." A long pause. "You're way too different. What /exactly/ is your business here?"
Miari Miari is a bit weirded out at GHOSTS buying MEDICINES, but she didn't set any rules as to who can buy or why. She can only hope that some of these medicines are going to make it back to the living who actually need it...

    But she kinda doubts that's gonna happen, so as her stocks of medicine slowly get used up by ghosts, her pile of local currency does grow...

    And now, she can try her previous strategy once more. Or could. The presence of the ghosts wearing masks has her creeped out in a way that the Underworld aesthetics doesn't.

    Sure, this place is spooky, depressing, bleak, and hostile, but so is Malfeas, and when you're accustomed to Malfeas, the Underworld is positively welcoming in its lacking a hundred ways to die without warning. As long as her Essence reserves hold up...

    Miari's hesitant to use any of her Infernal powers down here, where Essence powers are rampant and doing it may make her shine like a beacon to all the ghosties and nasties...

    Plus, ghosts can be OLD. And tough. And much more powerful than a mortal. So she's waiting for a good mark to pass by, as before...

    Someone who's well-dressed but registers as less potent to her Essence-Dissecting Stare. Someone she can then reach out with her mind to...

    And probe hard with an unspoken, sourceless question. 'What do you know of the resistance?'
Ice King     Ice King flops over the counter on his belly. "This place is so BORING." Then he hears a wagon rolling through and looks up. "Oh, hey! A soup wagon or something! Maybe they have some anti-ghost soup." He considers going over there but is then bombarded with customers (or 'people who want to know what the heck ice cream is' at least, so he winds up getting pulled into that until Gawain and crew come into sight. However, as they are also on their way OUT, Ice King has to act swiftly. "Wow! Look at that! A robot and some swimmer guy and a goth and THAT one! Well, I'm out of here!" He flaps his beard and takes off, knocking over and destroying his ricketty ice cream stand in the process, sending globs of ice cream and snow cream everywhere.

    A ghost walking by, perhaps having had some small exposure to Multiverse whatsits, sees the fallen sign of the now-destroyed ice cream stand, leans over to read 'Fitty Cents' from it, and points. "Hey! I know that guy!"

    Suddenly, an Ice King is descending on Gawain. "Hey, there, little lady! Wouldn't happen to be in need of an Ice King for your adventuring party would you? You know, I write fanfic about a heroine just like you! Named Fionna! You don't happen to have a talking cat, would you?"

    Gawain's party has gained one (1) flying ice cream vendor.
Tomoe The state of the people here, she can see it they are like the walking dead. She's not sure what to do but stick to the plan acting out now could make things a hell of a klot worse. Then comes nightfall and she feels a chill that sends shivers down her spines but she'll keep going. She'll keep watch for trouble but the dead are here to pick up things and watches with wary eyes. She says nothing to Miari but it's clear Tomoe is disturbed by everything she sees here.

She sees Miari is also actually weirded out too. She doesn't know what powers her friend might be using but hopefully they can make use of the local money in some way to help with bringing this place crashing down. For now though? She will just keep playing the guard while she watches for more signs of trouble or things of interest.
Batou Batou had just relaxed a bit when out of nowhere some not-dead-yet guy comes flying through with a beard that many would kill for. Tachikoma yelps, and jumps a good foot in the air before falling on its undercarriage, eye spinning as they see a giddy old man using his beard to fly.

Batou draws his gun, aiming at the intruder. "Just who, or what, the hell are you?"
Gawain Well, that worked! Gawain smiles confidently, putting away his identification after it's checked, and heading forward towards the forest. As he is, an ice cream vendor...joins them. And calls him a little lady, which he just deflects. "Ah, I believe the proper term would be hero! I do not have a dog, however. Warden Gawain of the Paladins, it's a pleasure!" When Batou draws his gun, though, Gawain waves a hand. "Ah, why are you doing that? This is a public forest, and obviously he's a kind old man selling ice cream! At ease, please!

"As he eventually moves through the dark trees...he stops when he spots the war camp. He squints, before starting to move up closer to it, trying to get more information - he actually moves to see if there's a soldier he can talk to, because this looks Bad and it might...be...a misunderstanding? Hopefully? He doesn't start conversation, yet, but he's closing up into visual range, and his body language isn't ready for combat - it's passive, casual
Azure Armature As night falls, the forest becomes less of a quiet and strangely off-model place to blend in, and more of an active staging ground. Rotating her view as she comes out of the time-dialated fast forward mode, Azure has a few brief moments to survey the outksirts of the war camp before her 'local guide' arrives.

Azure doesn't precisely jump at the arrival of her contact - she did call, and all - but does bring up her right hand to 'cover the approach' such that it is, lowering it slightly as she rocks back into her observatory crouch.

Her face doesn't break into a smile, but her brow furrows gently, and her eyes seem to dart between Bloody Revelations while she speaks, and the war camp when she does not. "Recon is a core part of infiltration, and information is a core part of making decisions." She replies to the comments about her 'patient waiting', her head tilting-and-righting in a neutral gesture of bemusement. "I could say the same for you. Were our positions reversed, I'd be the local guide, where I come from. When in unfamiliar territory, isn't it natural to seek local information sources? The ability to hide a war-camp of this size, as well as a full patropoli, from detection for large parts of the cycle is a powerful weapon. However, I'm not familiar with the means by which it's happening. Also, the mein of these threats - and yours..." Her normally neutral voice gives a sort of gravelly sigh as she dips into the last few syllables. "... Sets me ill at ease. Gremlins - and Apostates - are a disease for which annihilation is the only cure. A tumor upon the workings of the world. Their trappings are similar, but... different, as well. You seem not of filth and oil and chaos, but of a system, an order."

There's a tiny smirk. "Better to understand, then execute."

She gives another gravelly sigh. "As for my overall mission - that's classified. But it can easily align with most objectives you have, as long as this is no den of gremlin corruption."
All-Seeing Eye "Excellent," Eye mutters beneath his breath. They clearly had no idea what the Paladins were, which means, this being a totalitarian state, their supervisors won't tolerate any unknown elements. There's too much surveillance here to just go after whatever informant they'll no doubt have running back to the authorities. And, since he can't intercept said party, it's only a matter of time before his ability to forward the aims of the Commonwealth efficiently is effectively neutered.

     There'll be paperwork, and detente, and lobbyists, all doing nothing but talking while the people of Thorns starve beneath the yoke of a despot. The Exalt huffs and stamps a foot into the ground. Though he doesn't turn his head to face Batou, he addresses the cyborg all the same. "It's fine," he says, in agreement with Gawain. "I don't think he's a threat."

     At least, not a physical threat. Based on the remark he makes, the Exalt can only assume this strange ice cream vendor is competition. And his hoary white beard suggests... is he a ghost, perhaps? "/Sir/ Gawain already has his fair share of suitors," says the Alchemical testily. "If there's nothing better for you to do with your time, however, I suppose you could follow along and chronicle our greatness."

     Now that Gawain's started the countdown to detente, it's crucial to tip the scales as much in the Confederation's favor as possible. That means that he's going to have to play dirty. When Gawain makes contact with a guard, the Exalt pushes past. "Gawain, there's no time," he says, with none of his usual lilt. And with nonplussed ease, the Personality Override Spike is thrust into the abdomen of the guard.

     Provided there's no interruption, the Exalt begins scouring the spirit's memories for technical specifications on the Mask's siege weaponry--or failing that, the location of someone who'd know.
Batou With a grumble, Batou lowers his weapon, eyeing Gawain and Eye, and looking on into the camp ahead, opening the tachikoma's door and grabbing a large weapon from the storage container within. Being a part of Section 9 really pays off, especially when you can get your hands on a Big Gun(TM)

This particular weapon is a bolt-action rifle holding incendiary rounds, enough to punch a fist-sized hole in whatever here is tangible enough to feel it. He loads a round into the chamber and closes the tachikoma's door.

"Hey, old guy. You got any way to defend yourself?"
Starbound Flotilla     Albert's throat seizes up when he sees those masks. He knows what that means and he knows their intention. His compulsion to react to them much like he once had to react to all of the Miniknog gives his sense of fear a sort of authenticity. Muscles are clenched, teeth are gritted, and fists are balled in a way that mirrors the way the people of Thorns no longer seem to have any significant fight in them, only fear in varying shades and varying shapes.

    Luckily, he lived much of a time in his life dealing with this sort of fear, and so while it consumes his body and fills his compulsive, reflexive reactions with an intensely authentic anxiety, it's also something he can keep working through effectively. He sets off towards the mountains, following the signatures of what he can find in the data from the ore scanner and from what he can discern from the movements of the shipments he was able to see before. It takes a while to coordinate the movements of the Flotilla to the north without arousing the suspicion of others, but one hopes he may be able to do it.

    It's once he gets a good look at things to the north that his entire demeanor changes. The massive entity that he initially mistook for a mountain was clearly an objective, in some kind of sense. But now he's realizing it's not just an objective, it's also itself a massive foe. On his way to and through the north wall in all the ways that refugees might secretly move, his shoulders actually wind up slumping and his fingernails begin to dig into the thick palms of his apelike hands, drawing a bit of blood.

"In... Industry target sighted."
"Mr. Petrov, are you quite okay?"
"Phwoah hell, that's a big thing there."
"Floran... Think... Maybe too big for ssstab."
"Awestruck. I think... My scanners may be of little use for much of this."
"Aye, 'tis half a matter of boarding and half a matter of rock-climbing."
"And certainly a most intimidating combination. Mr. Petrov?"
"..."
"Albert?"
"The masks. Scout for where they work in Thorns, and where they work in the..."
"Titan citadel."
"Secret police. Enforcers. Hands of the regime. They're where we need to start."
"Aye, and what of the pit?"
"If I see a mystery hole full of ore you know I've gotta get in on that."
"...Later. Need the information first."

    They get back to work. In this case, they do their best to watch the watchmen, so to speak. They're trying to find where the white-masked ghosts go and congregate, within the city and within the strange and horrifying citadel. The ghosts themselves can't be quite so universally cruel, right? There must be /some/ dissent among even them, something well prevented by the masks themselves. So what they're particularly on the lookout for is one specific thing, even if scouting for this might take hours: Have any ghosts drawn the ire or attention of these masks? Have any of them been taken to anywhere in particular?
Bloody Revelations     This time, Gawain is actually stopped at the border of the camp. The city is already crawling with so many ghosts and so many watchers (and almost definitely so many spies) that there is less of a need of a serious vigilant presence, but nobody, not even the 'civilian' ghosts of Thorns' ancestors and the foreigners that had flocked here to enjoy higher status, is allowed past the pickets of basalt and iron, largely for show (though pointed metal could skewer a material ghost here as anyone else) and to demarcate the boundary of acceptable approach.

    Two war ghosts, fairly high ranking ones as it looks like, probably corpse-wearers by day, cross intricate bone lances ahead of him, each studded with enough black gems to look vaguely like the magitech of Denandsor. Neither of their faces can be seen, in that ominous evil empire full face helmet sort of way, but they speak without an echo. They're probably mid-ranking, but still mooks. The problem is that their commander may very well not be far away.

    "Get lost.
"Or kill yourself and come back."
"No fleshy little children beyond this point."
"Adults only."

    They let Eye through just fine though. They basically don't even blink. The guy is made of literal soulsteel. Soulsteel=creatures of death. That's how it works. They wouldn't have any reason to expect otherwise. Seriously, who could he possibly be other than one of the Mask's many lackeys? 'Autocthon' isn't in their vocabulary, as it isn't for 99.99% of Creation and the Underworld. That lets him stroll right up to the less armed checkpoint lackey beyond them, filing paperwork on arrivals and departures with a floating black quill, who gets as far as lazily rasping "Name and purpose of vis-" before Eye stabs him in the ghost guts with his mind-reading spike. The information he gets is fractured and strange, owing to a certain level of incompatibility with the negative Essence of the underworld, but useable.

    45,000 zombies of various combat readiness. 2/3rds tasked to domestic and industrial labour, deeming that further size beyond the remaining third is too uselessly blunt an instrument. Cannon fodder, to exhaust troops and expend their ammunition.
    7,500 war ghosts, 3/4 present, remaining quarter being recalled from other holdings in the Underworld. Trained in ghost-specific combat magic and skilled in battle.
    3,500 mortal soldiers. None of them are conscripts. All are either volunteers for status and security, or 'volunteers' picked up by the Mask's Deathknights. Magically trained and stripped of hesitation or compassion to optimize their killing efficiency.
    Uncertain numbers of siege engines. Production is ramping up. Expected hiring of mercenary pale hosts to swell numbers. Recalling of no less than six Deathknights to lead war upon Lookshy. Mass manufacturing of something something 'Osseus Shell' expected to be a considerable force multiplier. Nothing of grand strategy whatsoever.
    Eye himself assumed an allied Deathknight. Gawain assumed a mortal until someone can get off their ass enough to assess his actual nature. Batou assumed mortal. Tachikoma assumed . . . delivery.
Bloody Revelations     Miari's pressing questions are more straightforward, more easily answered, and more overt. She catches a particular ghost who clearly has nothing to do with Thorns itself, probably having arrived upon hearing of a ghost-run society with tons of free prayer to grow fat off of and an incredibly convenient Shadowland. They have no roots in the city, as a local ancestor or otherwise. The opinion of the resistance is simple and poor. 'Children playing games. Delinquent outcasts avoiding work and due respect. Zero chance of success. Vague wonders why the Mask hasn't stomped them out already, rationalized as them being too irrelevant for him to bother. Another mention of the name 'Silken Laughter', but assumed to be a mere myth, as the idea of dueling a Deathknight is patently ridiculous'.

    The ghost, however, notices the intrusion. After a few moments paralysis, he recoils visibly from Miari, looking shaken and . . . well, figuratively pale at least. He turns and runs back towards a contingent of ghost guards, too far away to hear, but it's plain as day that he's tattling on her, and they look and turn towards her wagon, indicating trouble is coming. Maybe trouble she can play it cool through, perhaps, but trouble nonetheless, especially if any of the Deathknights here last time are still on call.
Gawain Well, they're rude. However, they're also incorrect about Gawain's nature! He has flesh, but he's also already dead. Therefore, if that's a concern, it's one he can readily fix! "Ah, no, you must be misunderstanding. I'm a spirit! I'm just materialized. See, like this." Gawain suddenly...disappears. For the mooks, he'll be gone unless they use any sort of supernatural scanning, for several seconds, before he appears several feet away, having walked. Gawain then proceeds to walk back. "Therefore, I can't kill myself and come back! That'd be inefficient!"
Ice King     Ice King looks up when Batou points a gun at him, putting his hands over his head and scowling. "Ohhhh, don't give me that! Do you got dibs on her already or somethin'? If not, you can't get huffy with me for taking the plunge just because you didn't have the nerve!" He then turns back to Gawain, dropping his arms. "A dog, huh? A dog is fine too, I guess." He pauses as something buzzes in a robe pocket. "Hold up one second. I think someone's calling me on my Onion." He feels around in his pocket and then pulls out an abomination of a radio cobbled together from all sorts of stuff. Or at least it's PROBABLY a radio, since he clicks it on and the voices of Miari and Tomoe and George and also some other people start coming out of it. "Ehh. Just the usual chatter." He stuffs it back in his pocket.

    "Anyway, I was thinking we could--Whoah!" he pauses as he realizes they are approaching some kind of armed encampment or something. The menacing guards with spears is kind of a tip-off. It looks dangerous to keep hanging around here. "Are these guys supposed to be here? They look like they're getting ready to bust some chops."

    He looks to the robot. The guy with the gun. The one made up of all blacks and white and greys, and then the knight. "...Oh, this is an adventuring party, isn't it? You know, I was just looking for one of tho--" He cuts himself off as the one in monochrome colors slips by the guards and stabs a guy. He puffs his cheeks out and observes silently, no longer sure what's going on but trying vainly to understand. :I Maybe this is one of those rumored 'evil opposite parties'. Maybe he just get out of while the getting's good. And it seems like Gawain is yet another Ghost Princess, based on that display, so there's no real point in capturing him either.

    He responds to Batou when questioned. "Huh? Well, I'm a mighty wizard who commands the powers of ICE and SNOW!" he holds his arms up, fingers curled like claws, as flickering blue and white light strobes around his hands. "I can handle myself, no problem!"

    "...Why, you need some bricks flipped?"

    if what he said has any truth to it, they might have some considerable magical firepower floating around with them, should the need arise. The Crown he's wearing is certainly a shining beacon of magic, though since he's the one wearing it, it could easily be assumed to be coming from him, rather than it.
Batou Batou notices Eye go through, and, while at first confused, realizes that Eye is probably not human. If that's the case, maybe Tachikoma can slide through as well.

"Hey, Tachikoma, they aren't stopping you, you head on through, and make up a good excuse while the magic man and I figure out a solution.

Tachikoma whirrs quietly, considering options. Finally, the tachikoma rolls forward, speaking in a feigned robotic tone. "Scanning for delivery site. Death to the enemy. Delivery site within range."

Batou looks to the guards and sets his weapon down as he lifts his hand. With a simple pull, Batou rips his pinky finger clean off, sparks flying from the end. "I'm not human, you idiots. Lemme past!"
Bloody Revelations     Where Azure is rightly tense, wary, and alert, as well as obviously dressed for practical recon, the Abyssal she speaks to is utterly at home in this environment, even when on the doorstep of one of her liegelord's rivals (not that she'd ever dignify the Mask with that title), and hasn't sacrificed an iota of appearance to be here. When Azure glances to the war camp, she lets herself look off for a moment too, albeit with an extremely critical downturn of her lips. "Necrotech. Crude. Basic. Corpse toys for beginners still obsessed with death, ignorant of Oblivion. Maybe enough to deal with the idiots playing at Shogun, who knows."

    She turns her attention back to the contact actually speaking to her, spreading her hands amicably. "Well of course it is. You'd think that'd be common sense, wouldn't you? Knowledge is a weapon, you gain knowledge through learning, you learn through going to the source and consulting with experts, not fumbling in the dark or swallowing third-hand wisdom. Common sense, unfortunately, is an oxymoron. Sense is the least common thing in the world."

    "You've really never heard of a Shadowland though, have you?" She doesn't seem annoyed. In fact, she looks a little less so without having to talk over someone dumping skewed exposition. "The Mask of Winters is a ghost. He died and fell into the Underworld, and was made a god-king of the dead by the powers that be. To enter Creation from the Underworld, there are only so many options, and most of them are places where the fabric of the world is frayed and sterilized of life by the impression of mass death."

    "Instead of finding one to base himself from, he made his own. Through Necromancy I would /dearly/ like to learn, he punched a hole between the worlds by force, smashing Thorns and its surroundings through the floor of Creation and into the Underworld, so deeply that its underground reaches graze the cheek of the Labyrinth and blend together. That's how he's pulling his little trick. Of course, it's blatantly obvious to any native of the Underworld, but to the people of Creation? They know just as little as you do, but they're scared of finding out. At the very least, someone in the faux-Shogunate had the good sense to hire someone less timid to check for the possibility."
Bloody Revelations     She then goes completely silent for several, unwieldy seconds. Completely still too, as if something two miles off and a mile in the air had suddenly caught her rapt attention. She cocks her head faintly, as if hearing something mildly curious or confusing, and then chews her lip for a moment. She then looks to Azure as if no break in the conversation had occurred at all. "The only 'gremlins' I've ever heard of are the pretty little police doll's problem. Or I suppose, your master's? Father? I must admit I'm interested by the idea that he should be dying all on his own. That isn't supposed to happen, you know."

    "No wonder you'd compare it to a tumour or a cancer, something so perverse as a slow and mortal death to one of their brothers. What you see here though, or at least, who you're talking to, this is the real thing. Pure, cold, tranquil, orderly, unchanging, and far removed from the degenerate chaos of Sol Invictus' leftovers and the Host's inbred offspring. You'll have to believe me when I say that it's truly something beautiful, when it isn't being defaced like this by the filthy, crude ambitions of 'kings' still obsessed with their old lives. This blotchy stain on the clean canvas of the Underworld is as offensive to me as it is to you, so I'm actually rather happy you've decided to help in scrubbing him from the face of the earth. Him and all his sick, deranged little friends, playing as if they could even /begin/ to understand the true lords of the Underworld; as if they actually matter in the grand scheme of anything and their time hadn't passed centuries ago. Pawns. Upjumped useless idiots whispered too much flattery, who really think they can take on the world and win."

    She then suddenly comes off her ideological rant to say something useful out of nowhere. "Oh, by the way. Those rings. I added a little precaution to them. Remove the jewel for a good . . . let's say thirty minutes total of uninterrupted peace from nosy ghosts. Don't lose it though. Maybe I should have told the others that. Hmm."
Miari ".... Not looking good." Miari didn't warn Tomoe of what she was doing, but she seats herself on the wagon. "They caught on to my trick. Didn't expect that." She's looking a little tense, but not yet SCARED exactly. "Be ready for anything," She whispers to her guardswoman, already running various scenarios through her head.

    Though, really, if she can get the NAMES of some of these ghosts...
Bloody Revelations     Watching the watchmen, so to speak, is an odd task. They are clearly exceptionally competent eyes and ears, even casually judging their demeanor, their alertness, and their level of constant, unwavering readiness. They are invisible to the people of Thorns either at night, owing to their innate powers (and to most other people of Creation asides), and what would counter those powers would normally alert them in a heartbeat. Having the uneasy eyes of an Abyssal prodigy's work on their fingers makes the Flotilla's job surprisingly easy, because as long as they keep their heads down and their movements aimless and despondent, there's really very little way for said watchers to be tipped off that they can even /see/ them. What little magic the rings give off blends into the background radiation.

    They don't move much. They don't /do/ much. They have rotations of course, which they don't communicate at all, but these ones don't pretend to be living people like the rest enjoy. They fully exercise their tireless nature and freedom of concerns of the flesh, maintaining nearly unbroken shifts. It's only when something of note actually happens (for instance, Miari reading someone's mind and causing a disturbance right about now) that one flits off. Not to the palace. These ones don't report to the court. They go above that. They go directly to the citadel atop the monster that is a mountain's back. Personal messengers. Left hands.

    The masks are basically not even people. If they have any feelings, they're well-trained in completely repressing them on the job. They also basically don't interfere, but can be seen occasionally communicating through some kind of sign language to guards (visible to humans) when areas need checking out. The guards themselves are almost universally either professional or mildly abusive, though they largely save it for shaking down the living rather than the dead.

    What Albert gets for compassion amongst the deathly host is somewhat unexpected, but something that retrospectively should have been obvious. Ghosts with obvious family resemblance to the living they accompany, serving roughly the same role as a man does for his women in a heavily gender segregated society, or the dominant ethnicity does for the minority when separated by race. They tag along as 'valid cause'. They attempt to guide their living descendents around and keep them out of trouble. One of them goes as far as to pay off a guard with those little black coins.

    A few of them look mildly defiant. The rest look guilty and depressed. A far cry from the carefree foreigners. These are the ancestor ghosts who are finally able to walk amongst their sons and daughters and grandchildren for the first time, and yet must deal with the heartbreaking reality that their descendents are second-class slaves. The dead ancestors of Thorns' people.
All-Seeing Eye Well, this is all going to be very useful. But he still needs to cover their tracks, even if Gawain won't. Now that he's inside the ghost's mind, it's time to do a little rewriting. It's slow going, given the incompatibility of his own technology with the dead Essence that flows through here, but it's necessary work.

     EYE'S VERSION OF EVENTS

     The Deathknight known as Bleeding Edge of Deathly Innovation has arrived to perform an independent analysis of the camp's efficiency, at the request of the Mask of Winters. His mortal sorcerer-engineers are fanatically loyal to him, and are actually necessary for the most complete analysis possible. They are GAUVAIN, BARSTOWE and YESTERDAY'S NEWS (yes, he's that petty) hailing from the frigid north, accompanied by an advanced animating intelligence.

     That's not to say that the entire narrative will stick, but... the more authenticity their welcome has, the less likely Gawain is to ruin everything by going around, talking to people and being nice. Eye removes the spike, waits a few seconds and...

     "Are you alright?" The spike is nowhere to be seen. "You... zoned out for a moment." He clears his throat politely, as one does when dealing with a subordinate who's slightly remiss in their duty. "Our papers?" The Exalt holds out his hand expectantly.
Tomoe Tomoe can see trouble is on it's way and she gets the idea is to get ready to run. She does not intend to join the dead here or become materials for the ruler of this place. She does not visibly panic yet, no but she is making ready for trouble she also is going to get ready as she nods at a few of the ideas of her own. She knows what she may need to do and she's ready. She looks to Miari then to the guards who are now heading their way. This was going to get interesting really fast and she tenses.
Bloody Revelations     Both guards are now extremely confused. People who are not dead are very obvious. They stick out like the lines of reflective paint on the road at night. Gawain is super blatantly not a ghost, but then he claims he is and then dematerializes like one, in the Underworld, where a god or spirit could technically do it but would be beyond stupid to do so because they'd never get the magical power back. Batou /rips his finger off/ and shows that he's some kind of automaton. Those are things that actually exist in Creation, and are all extremely unique as well as uncommon, but even then, he pretty much /smells/ like the living. Who the hell could have possibly built him? And why'd they send him here of all places? Shouldn't they at least have the common decency to cover him in skulls and black spikes? It's highly disorienting and distressing.

    he two mooks look at each other, helmet slot to helmet slot, oh-so-clearly mentally shrugging at each other despite the lack of any change in posture, then remove their pikes.
"Whatever."
"If you cause any trouble you're dead anyways. The Executioner's Grimace is on training, and the Wink of the Storm's Eye is on inspection."
"Either one of them will murder you if you step out of line."
"Or tell the Mask."

    With sobriquets like that, they can only be Abyssal Exalted.

    When the barricade guards let the two of them through (three counting Tachikoma), the checkpoint guard just scoots them right on through, even smiling at the Tachikoma's 'enthusiasm'. "Oh, of course, of course." he rasps up suddenly. "Where are my manners, esteemed Knight. May I take this opportunity to say that this proof of concept machine is very impressive indeed! It's no wonder the Mask would like to see it. I only hope it's in time to meet the front lines with the fools of Lookshy, haha!"

    He ruffles around in his sheaf, confused for a few moments where he doesn't find anything set aside by any of those names, but quickly writes up new ones, stamping them with some kind of fluid, greyish ink that gives off a faint magical signature; some kind of equivalent to holographic anti-counterfeit measures. He hands them out to Gawain and Batou on the way past (and then stamps one on the Tachikoma's chassis).
Bloody Revelations     Since Miari and Tomoe don't suspiciously bolt for cover, the guards take their time arriving, moving briskly but not urgently. Other ghosts part in front of them. The few living still out at this hour make sure to not even be on the same street. Eight of them arrive at the stall, with the lead one obvious by the plume of raven feathers on his helmet. It's not /all/ that different from being busted by the police at any major urban center with a bad reputation, in terms of intense sweatiness, save that these ones don't need to smash a tail light or throw a baggy into the back seat as an excuse to apprehend and/or kill someone.

    "You're a registered transient merchant. I know you know the rules ma'am." the leader begins, sounding deadpan and hollow, and not at all using 'ma'am' with any inflection that communicates respect or professional politeness. "You know that makes you suspect of foreign espionage in attempt to uncover state or trade secrets. I con't care if you're from the Guild or the Realm or the golden gates of Yu-Shan, maybe you can get away with abusing Terrestrial privilege like that back home, but Thorns has a duty to protect its citizens." The unspoken undercurrent is 'its dead ones at least'.

    "You're coming with us for examination. Don't make a fuss and maybe it'll be quick and amount to a fine." It's the equivalent of the officer having his hand on the gun in his unlocked safety holster, in that trigger happy rural abusive cop way. Probably nothing Tomoe couldn't handle if it came down to an actual fight, but either of them can see the ghost with the mask watching them from down the street, carefully documenting everything, possibly even dissecting their auras. The guards will report to the monarch. The watcher will report to the Mask.
Azure Armature That gravelly, breathy tone intrudes in Azure's voice once again. "Necrotech...?"

Her eyes clearly are some sort of delicate cybernetic system, as the minute whirring of focusing and cycling through vision modes takes place. Because she has the superpower of Basic Pattern Matching and the legendary, nay, merely whispered in hushed tones skill Listening, she immediately understands 'Necro' and 'Tech' when portmanteau'ed generally would mean 'Death technology', but it's something that even her background doesn't prepare her for. "I noticed the heavy use of Soulsteel as an alloying metal and brace function, but... hmmmmnh."

She trails off, and Bloody Revelations has more than enough words for the both of them. Dutifully she does not interrupt past her reaction to 'Necrotech', letting her contact Cutscene at her intensely. There's a lot to cutscene about!

Her attention doesn't wane, nor does she give some impression that she's not engaged by the Abyssal's words, but she does multitask by getting a good scope of the War Camp in the forest.

She glances at the ring on her finger, nodding her wordless understanding, before beginning her reply.

"So through a local Process-" The word is clearly Capitalized, and a bare understanding and basic pattern matching would make it clear that it was 'what she called Thaumaturgy or Sorcery' "... Necromancy, that you wish to capture the secrets of, this 'Mask of Winters' plunged this area into close proximity to the Underworld, a second layer of this world where the dead remain ambulatory in both physical and spiritual shapes." She skips a few proper nouns like 'Labyrinth' since it has no meaning to her and she lacks any context beyond 'a place under the city' in the plain Common tongue.

"As for the Great Maker, the relationship is complicated. I serve the interests of His continuance, and so establishing relationships with the locals of power in this place that would align with my goals. As for your needs..."

Azure rises from her crouched posture. "I believe we can work together. Your Mask seems a powerful and rogue apostate, and if these forces are as 'deranged' as you say, then I'm willing to make it my mission to scrub out this stain."

The helpful tip on the ring gets a curt nod. "Let's talk mission objectives. Primary, Secondary, Tertiary. Are you familiar? Be exact and precise. What is your best case outcome? And..."

A turn of the head brings her gaze away from the war camp and into the rotting mountain. "... do you have a plan for the rotting patropoli-fortress of your Necrotech on the horizon?"
Starbound Flotilla     Albert settles on the path.

"Masks are based in the titan citadel."
"So how the fuck do we get there?"
"I have few doubts that such a being would allow us to merely fly to the top."
"Floran can climb! Like mossst deadly insssect!"
"Aye, but the surroundings are full of work."
"Thoughtful. If we could just get a teleportation beacon in there..."
"That's what we'll try to do. Or one at the borders of the labor."

    The Flotilla move again, and head towards the north one more time. Once they're clear of the walls, they can reconvene and work together under Albert's strict direction. This time, their objective is simple: Scope out the gargantuan creature and the citadel atop it, and specifically find a location where they can settle down a teleportation beacon -- one that they hope they can use when the Underworld phases into accessibility -- somewhere where they can poke and prod at getting up above.

    What this means, for the most part, is a whole lot of use of scanning, trying to examine the contours. Mining scanners aren't meant to be used on necromantic flesh, but it's not like the concept of caves and cliffs are too distant from what the group would need to be finding to be able to ascend the creature. And they also have a particular interest in observing air defenses; once they're clear... Hmmm, are they able to FTL-port their ships into something resembling "orbit" here? It feels unlikely, but trying to scan from above, trying to identify if there'd be anything truly inviable about beaming to the top of it. They need to find something to focus on in terms of getting a foot in the door for getting to where the Masks gather and keep their information! There's no way they don't have records and archives. And the important bit is making sure Albert gets to their awful Ministries and suchlike, something Albert much knows the value of, to see if their society-shaping technologies and materials could be turned against them.
Miari "...." Miari's scowling at this turn of events, putting a bit more of an indignant show than she perhaps would if this -wasn't- happening as part of an undercover op. She huffs. "You are implicating a merchant and healer as a troublemaker? How daft do you think I would have to be to raise trouble in a place like this?! But, if you insist... fine. Let me get my traveling cloak. It's downright frigid at night here."

    Of course, this means hopping back behind the curtains of the wagon and amongst the crates and shuffling around. There's a small WHUMPK that might be a crate opening... and Miari soon crawls back out of the wagon front, having donned a cloak. Still scowling. "Driver, find a place to park and stay out of trouble." Commands Miari, without the green flames from her mouth a few people might expect. The Neomah-disguised-as-driver blinks, but begins moving the cart as a very indignant Miari stands next to Tomoe, glaring daggers at the guardsman.
Ice King     So they're on a stealthy sneaking mission, huh? Ice King can do that! As Batou tries to lasso Ice King into Tachikoma-sitting (or is he trying to get the Tachikoma to watch over Ice King?) the wizard drops down behind the robot tank raises a hand and says, "I'll look around and see what I can find out! These chumps don't seem to have even noticed me yet!" He shimmers and then disappears, intent on following along and looking for opportunities to listen in on secret conversations or spy on whatever seems interesting.
Gawain Gawain reads his document. He blinks at it, and almost turns around to correct it, when Eye explains that it's what they're expecting...which obviously means that Gauvain of the North is actually a misspelling, referring to Gawain from being from Orkney in North Scotland. Or atleast, that's how Gawain logicked it out. Smiling brightly at the checkpoint guard, Gawain heads off to find the nearest guard or worker who seems at all friendly or reasonable, and talk to them. "Hello! I believe you will know me as Gauvain of the North." He says it very properly and confidently, as it's what they're expecting. "I'd like to ask you about your camp here, the purpose of it, and how it is working here, if you don't mind!" He holds a hand to his chest and smiles, trying to invoke that confidence in the gloomy people of this region. At the least, they can trust him, right?
Bloody Revelations     "Goodness, you really are smarter than the usual that washes up here aren't you? I didn't see a single word fall out your other ear." Bloody Revelations replies, not at all being sarcastic or condescending. "That's correct. I have my own interests in what spell --process-- he used for it, and it isn't nearly as petty, grandiloquent, and self-serving as conquering and tainting a hapless city of defenseless mortals and inept Terrestrial Exalted. The secret is wasted on him. /Existing/ is wasted on him."

    Then, she begins to laugh. It is neither hostile nor derisive, but it is unnerving all the same. It somehow lacks some inherent spark to it, like she'd only learned the feeling of amusement at a point much too late in life, leaving a certain, uncanny 'unhingedness' to it. "Apostate! I love it! That is a /fantastic/ word! It describes /exactly/ what he is! My dear I am impressed! Indeed, he is both apostate against Creation /and/ the Underworld, and rogue in all but name from the great beings that trusted him with their power to enforce their order, which he used for selfish ends. You certainly catch on quickly."

    "Very well, very well. Your primary objective: kill the Mask of Winters by any means possible. This will require verifying if he is, indeed, actually immortal, and if so, what his weakness is."

    "Your secondary objectives: kill or neutralize any of his Deathknights as targets of opportunity. Their Shards can't wander off and defect to a new masters, but experience survivors can. Prevent collateral damage to his personal research and artifacts as much as possible. They could be invaluable in discovering the machinations and weaknesses of the other apostates who work alongside him. Discern the identities of as many of his spies as you can, for he has many."

    "Your tertiary objectives: ensure that his army is obliterated as dramatically as possible on the battlefield. Lookshy has the means, but not the competence. If somehow possible, seize control of Juggernaut, or at least disable it, without destroying it. Retrieve any Soulsteel that becomes convenient so it can be repurposed into something less garish and more useful. Secure cooperation of any surviving Deathknights. Cow rebellious ghost elements into submission."

    "Essentially, tie up loose ends for a clean victory that doesn't leave any potential for a flare up conflict after. Acquire as much useful and personnel as plausible. Secure intel wherever remotely possible. This is the second step of a wider campaign. Clear enough?" Not once did she ever mention 'protect the people of Thorns' or 'ensure Lookshy wins'. Hmm.
Tomoe Tomoe looks to the cop, oh alarm bells are going off here she makes mental plans for if this goes south. She will keep the the plan she needs to learn things too. If there is trouble she's certain she can handle most things well short of an exalted. She makes ready and falls in step with Miari, she eyes the guard but does not move to attack or go for her own weapon. It looks like she's going to be going along too as she'll follow where the guard will lead them. In the back of her mind there is this surreal moment for her though as this could go very bad, who knows what happens if she gets stuck here? Well death wouldn't be an escape she knows that much.
All-Seeing Eye He's already collected intelligence that should allow both the Confederation of Rivers (and their Claslati allies, should it come to that) a slight advantage: troop numbers. But that's not enough. Why settle for a slight advantage when one could make that advantage decisive?

     The Exalt mentally isolates the clerk's admission of Thorns preparing to attack Lookshy, and partitions it within the memory crystal stored in his eye. It's not as though it comes from a high-ranking official, but it's a little more kindling for the fire. Stepping out of the security checkpoint and into the camp proper, his vision reveals Batou slipping into his optic camo. He can use this to his advantage...

     "Good idea," he says, just loud enough for Batou to hear. "I'm going to find Executioner's Grimace and distract him. See if you can get into his tent and look around."

     After that murmured command is given, the Exalt makes use of his vision to search wide swaths of the camp at once, looking for the musclebound Abyssal. Should he find him, Eye will approach with a greeting designed to appeal to the other's ego. "Are you the Dusk Caste I've heard so much about? Executioner's Grimace, yes?"
Bloody Revelations     Wandering too near 'Juggernaut' as it is apparently called, is both dangerous and difficult. Dangerous because of the concentration of elite personnel. Difficult because of the overwhelming, all-consuming, vomit-and-pass-out rank stench. Getting up close, what had looked like a four-legged creature actually turns out to be bipedal, broken and forced to crawl through the dirt with the citadel on its back, as if it too were conquered and ground beneath the Masks's heel as much as Thorns.

    Alarmingly, scanning it finds /life signs/, however faint, buried under extreme layers of vast decay, as if its body is regenerating almost as much as it rots from the inside out. Scanning for caves also garners a grotesque result, as the titanic monster's flesh is riddled with twisting tunnels large enough for someone to crawl through, as numerous as capillaries. It would actually be not far outside the realm of possibility to stuff teleporter beacons in some of those revolting holes, though there's no guarantee it wouldnt close up again after in some uncertain time frame, meaning relying on one or two would be a bad idea.

    Getting straight to the top is unlikely. Assuming the Flotilla ships could warp in by day (they definitely can't in the Underworld's sky, for it seems to have some kind of metaphysical 'roof'), it'd be incredibly dangerous due to the sheer amount of fix armament bristling from the entire citadel; a veritable Maginot Line of physical and energy weaponry. It's blatantly an anti-army walking fortress. A small team would be the /only/ option that isn't suicide. It seems like by far the safest place to be would be in or on Juggernaut rather than anywhere else (ignoring the Mask himself, since he's the only reason to be there in the first place).

    A basic layout can be gleaned at least. A map that they can piece together later. Unfortunately, due to the thing's absurd height, there's not much they can visually confirm from the ground, but the layout of the citadel seems to be archetypical, even stereotypical on purpose, and it shouldn't be difficult to piece out which building is which when they collate their scans together later.

    If they take half a moment to scan the ore they had originally come for though, the results are conclusive and obvious. The signature matches with a part of the signature they already know for Soulsteel. It's a component. Which means souls are being smashed into it somewhere roughly in the area.
Batou Batou winces from the sparking finger, but passes through with Ice King and Gawain almost completely unharmed. Before he can get the old guy to stay with the tachikoma, he disappears, not showing up on thermals even. "Damn magic men..." Batou grunts, and turns to the tachikoma.

"Tachikoma, keep your eyes peeled on the situation surrounding us. Don't let anyone sneak up on us."

And with that Batou switches on his therm-optic camoflage, walking behind Eye and Gawain. Hopefully this will aid in hiding him as he investigates further. The plan is clear: Eye will distract Executioner's Grimace and Batou will sneak into the tent and find the intel they came for. It was just a matter of time.
Bloody Revelations     When inside the war camp, it is surprisingly almost less offensive than a living one. It stinks of rot and is cold enough to see one's breath, but then real war camps stink of sweat and dirt and blood and are loud and full of violent and often drunk men anyways. It's almost like an incredibly macabre yet simultaneously stage-sanitized rehearsal of one, cast in eerie green pyre light.

    Using go go gadget sight, 'Executioner's Grimace' is far from difficult to find. The war camp is still building, so it isn't replete with the Mask's favoured henchmen and right hands yet, so a genuine 'dragon' stands out like a black beacon, of course doing nothing to hide his power in an amongst his own troops. As All-Seeing Eye had surmised on his stay here before, the name pertains to the towering, boat-shouldered man who apparently fears so little that he doesn't wear a shirt, much less armour, showing off a tapestry of ropey white scars. His preposterously oversized soulsteel axe is with him, of course, and his caste mark is faintly visible on his forehead as a sun-shaped bruise, meaning he's been using a little bit of his power today. It looks like he's shaved down his hair recently.

    When he turns to 'Eye, his response is far from the grizzled thug or boorish mercenary he might appear. He is reserved. Taciturn. Canny. Almost quiet. "This isn't a place to play introductions and make nice. My liege's schedule is tight and his demands are inflexible. If another 'lord send you for some forsaken reason, fine. Help with the troops. If it's some other business, speak to Storm's Eye, not me." This one may actually be one of the older Deathknights; experienced, and with an unusual degree of sanity. A different class compared to the desperate, mad and unprepared general 'Eye had faced before, the way it feels like the quietly growling dog must be more dangerous than the aggressively howling one.

    Batou disappears into thin air. Because Stealth Is Not A Respected Space In Exalted, this seems far more effective than it has any right to be. Where real corporate or military security on his Earth would have security countermeasures to deal with active camo, the paradigm here seems to assume that invisibility is both a) magical and b) not very well developed in these lands, and so there are almost no individuals obviously qualified to spot him. That might change when the camp grows larger, but not for the time being.

    Batou finds the officer's compound without much effort, being a military man himself and knowing what to look for, even if the camp's makeup is centuries obsolete. His snooping discovers that the Deathknight is apparently a pretty spartan person, with little need for personal belongings, to the point he might wonder if he was a monk or something in life. At first it seems like he has nothing there beyond basic supplies and weird trinkets he can't make heads or tails of, but conducting a thorough examination, he discovers a false bottom in the standard footlocker, and retrieves what looks to be a written missive from . . . well, it's either the Mask himself, or a direct agent. The text is in some kind of cipher, but the stamp is extremely official. Sadly, there's not a lot he could steal to really weaken Executioner's Grimace. It seems like his axe, his muscles, and his discipline are what he relies on.
Azure Armature Azure's standing posture is slightly active at the knees, her poncho disrupting her silhouette, and her scarf up around her neck to...

Well OK, the scarf doesn't really have a purpose. But the rest does. She's tactical from the neck down!

The laugh, of all things, doesn't even phase Azure, and it's not because she's a hardened badass who's seen it all. No, actually, she's a champion of a very specific place, where the cities are people, and she has heard one try to laugh.

It's basically the same thing, except usually tinny and worse and less convincing. Past a point, cities lose that spark that makes laughter genuine.

"To repeat: Eliminate the High-Value Target, with potential secondary of securing means of elimination. Eliminate his spy network. Eliminate his lieutenants - 'Death Knights?', or tertiarily attempt to make them turn coat." She repeats back, a few issues lingering.

"Beyond that, scourge and scour and ensure this doesn't happen a second time. Secure any valuable materiel."

She raises a finger. "I take it that Juggernaut is the Patropoli on the horizon?"

She extends her (right) hand, as if to shake, but the palm is horizontal. "I have an analysis system. Could I scan you? It could produce a useful tool for this mission."
Bloody Revelations     The Ice King, on his personal foray around the camp (or just following Tachikoma through where five different logistical personnel play hot potato with it and send it back and forth since they don't know what it's for) has slightly different luck. Most of what the ghosts are saying is intentionally rote and theatrical tripe, either being edgy on purpose or basically the feudal era equivalent of quoting war movies. All part of the play of war. The undead are obviously not very communicative, and don't say anything of use.

    It's in his wandering that he discovers someone who /looks/ to be alive: a young man in his early twenties at most, with incredibly messy black hair and one of those lucky facial scars that just looks roguish instead of disfiguring. He's in the middle of animatedly discussing something with . . . one of those masked watchers. The matter is concerning.

    He's talking about Lookshy having hired foreign agents to scout out the Mask of Winters. He doesn't know they're there right this very minute, but he /knows/. Despite being oblivious to who the Paladins are, the Mask's agents, or at least this one in particular, already have info only a couple of weeks out of date, and that's in a world where just traveling back and forth to share the news already accounts for several days of those couple of weeks.

    When the Ice King drifts near, he stops and turns to look, a perfect circle mark blackening on his brow. He squints in the general direction, but doesn't win the Contested Essence Roll, and after a long, tense moment, goes back to detailing a report.

    Gawain's efforts are, sadly, considerably less fruitful. Unlike the people of Thorns who are head over heels to help him, the ghosts of the war camp are xenophobic, militant, and surly towards anyone who looks to have blood in their veins and also isn't decked out in soulsteel. They give him a couple of sentences each at most, so he basically has to piece together anything useful from repeated and overlapping dialogue.

    Specifically, the camp is a rallying point for the Masks's forced scattered across the Underworld, where they do all the /real/ work of exerting his will, since Thorns is basically a trophy that is easily kept underfoot. They expect it'll be a couple of weeks before a full rendezvous is complete, and they can go about strategic partitioning and deployment, with some kind of advance plan against Lookshy. Sadly, none of the guards really know the details of said strategy. They're guards, not generals.
Bloody Revelations     Meanwhile: Tomoe is coincidentally in luck. When Miari decides not to make a scene, the guards fan out around the wagon and drive it forward, making sure it can't swerve to either side to escape as they take it to a sort of '''''sheriffs station''''' put in the most generous language possible in the northwest quarter. When they arrive, they actually all but tell Tomoe to her face to fuck off. She's a bodyguard, and they want to interrogate her squishy and helpless merchant boss, so of course the armed warrior is not welcome in the room, especially since she clearly wasn't the one invading people's minds. This lets her pretty much just . . . walk away and laugh about it (once the adrenaline wears off) when she is presumably a safe distance away when the ruse is discovered.
Batou Batou uses his cybernetic eyes to record the document, making sure to capture images of all sides of the letter, before placing the missive back in its hiding place.

With everything in place, Batou slips quietly out of the tent, headed to the tachikoma's position near Gawain. On his way, Batou contacts Ice King through the radio.

"Special Agent Ice King, find out anything useful?"
Gawain Well, that's some valuable information. Gawain relays it to the rest, and then moves to regroup with the Tachikoma to wait for Eye and Batou for when they're ready to go.
All-Seeing Eye Eye brushes off the cold reception with a calculated chuckle. Grimace has a reputation for keeping his personal life close to his chest. But everyone has buttons which can be pushed, however they might try to hide them. He opens his mouth to give a retort, to press one of those buttons, when Batou's voice is heard over the radio. They have what they've come for, more or less.

     "Some of us work efficiently enough to have time for niceties," he smugly replies. "I'd hoped to test your combat aptitude personally, but my lord has recalled me elsewhere. Perhaps good fortune will give me that opportunity in the near future?" Eye makes a show of pondering that thought, pressing a gloved finger to his pale chin. Slowly, his lips turn upwards into a coy smile. He gives a little shrug of his shoulders, turns, and exits the camp as matter-of-factly as he entered.

     Once out, he regroups with Gawain, Batou and Ice King. "Boys, do I have some /delightful/ gossip for you...!"
Bloody Revelations     Bloody Revelations listens to Azure Armature repeating back the instructions in heavily condensed form, head tilted and chin to her finger, but ultimately seeming surprised. "What else is deserving of the name Juggernaut? Though I dare say he isn't deserving of his fate, as aggressively apathetic as I usually feel towards the behemoths of old. Of course, act as the opportunity arises. Anything that isn't the Mask of Winters' death is a wish list, so don't stretch yourself /too/ thin darling."

    A slow smile splits her lips for a second before fading. "Scan me? We haven't even had dinner." is about the full extent of the crack she's willing to make, before she obliges, placing her palm to Azure's. Whatever her gloves are made out of, it isn't silk. It feels weird, like glass. Either way, the scanning process will certainly feel . . . uncanny is probably the best way to put it. Like a third party is as privy to the process as the two women are.
Ice King     To Ice King, despite the threatening atmosphere, the bad smells, and everything else, this is still kind of just a game. So he writes down everything he hears in a big book, one of many he carries around for his Fionna and Cake fanfiction whenever something comes to him that needs to be written down right now. He manages to keep the muttering to himself as he writes to a minimum to avoid detection, and even then, when he comes across someone talking about someone who looks shy or something, he still winds up almost being noticed. He gives a surprised, sharp-toothed expression, but it seems he wasn't actually spotted.

    Eesh. Talk about tense. He records everything that follows too, and then starts making his way back across the camp to find the others. He also starts writing the next chapter of his latest fanfic along the way as he dodges those who can't see him.

    Fionna and Cake versus the Ghost Army, which is totally not a rip-off of any existing ghost armies and hopefully he will keep the intel he gathered separate from the story he is furiously scribbling based on said intel.

    Also there's that radio buzzing in his ice cream vendor robes again! He pulls it out to see what's going on. Doesn't this person understand that he's in the middle of sneaking? Oh, it's that guy with the swimming goggles or whatever. He whispers into it, "I'm on my way back. I've been snooping around and have I got a story for you guys! Ice King out!" Then he tucks the radio away and resumes moving to rejoin the party.

    Wizard Rogue OP!?
Tomoe Tomoe half expected to be dragged in as well but now she's worried for Miari but there's little she can do about this without causing more issues, right? So that's what she's going to not do. Cause issues. So she relents for now and will back off she's going to back off for appearances sake and moves to go hook up with the wagon which should be safe enough if things go bad. She's got to have a plan. Also the sooner they are both out of this God forsaken place, she just hopes they all get out and she waits.
Azure Armature Azure is a professional. Listen, then repeat your understanding for critical information sharing. She's been doing not just this rodeo but the 'reporting back' situation before. She's trained to deal in information dense manners by those who have need to both impress upon understanding and recieve back data.

She gives Bloody Revelations a blank look as she speaks of joking innuendo. "Is that necessary?" With the implication of 'is that necessary for me to scan you?' being the full question.

There's a rush of data, as Azure internalizes some unique secret truth from Bloody Revelations, her eyes flashing with circuitlike script before returning to normal. The strange (and until now, utterly unheard of) sense of being watch intrudes on the affair, but there's no real time to dwell on it. Mentally filing that away for later, she rotates her hand out from under the Abyssal's and checks a small wrist display that snaps into digitally hovering view over her sleeve.

"Hmm. Right, I'll have to spend some time analyzing this... But it'll probably come in handy."

There's a short nod. "Thanks for the info."