Whipping my head around at the sound of a new voice, I see the likely perpetrator of the flying book tricks.  Well. "Welcome to the party, ma'am." I say, quite warmly in fact, then continue following Zecklin. Surreptitiously I touch my wallet - to make sure it's still there.

Zecklin barely spares the new arrival an annoyed glance, which, given the average Karrn's attitude toward sentient undead, suggests a high degree of both irritation and familiarity. 

Jolly good, a Staff of Necromancy. Been a while since I've seen one of those. Now, who usually had them? Oh yes, crazed, wizened, powerful old freaks living near cemetaries. This is going to be great.

Of course none of this crosses my face, let alone my lips. Instead I snap off a parade ground salute to the General, then follow the Sergeant out.

A staff of necromancy, eh? Such an artifact would aid the cause of Karrnath considerably, I ponder, marching with our motley company. Of course, should this mission go south after the staff is acquired, such a treasure would fetch an amount of gold truly worthy of Kol Korran, may he be praised.

I instinctitively recoil, colliding with the wall, when the woman - ghost - appears.  "What the fuck," I choke out, making a sign to ward off evil.

I halt and wheel at the sound of the indiscretion.  "Corporal." I glare from the elf to the human.  "That," I indicate with a nod of my head towards latrine duty, "is now your problem.  Get her in line before she gets one of us killed before the mission even commences."

Not waiting for a response, I turn and continue to follow Zeklin.

Oh ffs, another Parade Ground Asshole. Right sir, Corporal Valenae on task, sir.

I wheel around on my heel and look directly at the young woman.

Woman? Barely a woman. More child than woman. Maybe not your best target Val, old mate.

"Right Soldier!" I boom, in my best imitation of a Parade Ground Asshole, "We here in The Karrnath Army do not show such disrespect to our probable superiors! We show decorum at all times, even when startled, and especially in the face of enemy fire! Are we clear, soldier?!"

I then lower my voice, "Look, the secret to getting ahead in this army is to keep your head down out of the line of fire. I'll hold the Sarge off you but you can't be making those outbursts again, all right?"

I pause as her face pales.

"You'll be okay, you obviously have some good skills for you to have been chosen. And as superiors go I'm a good one. I try not to lose people."

I flash a smile at her [Diplomacy 12 + 12 = 24] and turn to follow Sergeant PGA.

"Corporal, it's a ghost," I hiss.  "Skeleton guards are one thing - I mean, I'm not gonna be volunteering for a watch with 'em but you get used to it - but that?  It's just weird.  Undead that aint under control's a bad idea.  And from how it was acting with the general, it does what it wants.  This aint safe."

Also where the fuck do you get off telling me to keep my head down?

I have good hearing, and suppress a smile after the Corporal delivers his sotto voce reassurances. I don't blame the girl for being startled, great hulking metal armoured red-headed ghostly women aren't strictly a common sight in Karrnath's army,no wonder she's fearful. I've gotten soft with age, I think, age and peace. I no longer care for protocol. Leave it to the Sergeant and watch he doesn't overstep, I suppose.

"Corporal, it's a ghost," I hiss.  "Skeleton guards are one thing - I mean, I'm not gonna be volunteering for a watch with 'em but you get used to it - but that?  It's just weird.  Undead that aint under control's a bad idea.  And from how it was acting with the general, it does what it wants.  This aint safe."

Also where the fuck do you get off telling me to keep my head down?

"Safe, Soldier? We are about to go looking for an artefact that could render our undead armies useless. On that scale of "safe", a ghost that can't even touch the ground barely registers on my radar. I have served with many undead and the thinking ones are solid companions. I doubt if our new comrade will be any different."

Even if she can't share the cooking duties.

I wonder if I could.....

....no, probably not.

"It's gonna get us killed," I mutter, but trudge gloomily after the others, deciding if nobody else will take this seriously, I'll just have to do it myself.  Officers, they're all useless.

Zecklin leads you thorough the fort, around and down, around and down, via such a circuitous route that you almost wonder whether you're being deliberately misled.  The halls along your route seem oddly thin of people.    "Any portable personal belongings you have on post have been brought to a staging area," she says, as she unlocks and opens the door you come to.  Indeed, inside there is a modest chamber, clean but with an obscure air of disuse, with Antigone's belongings neatly stacked in the middle of the room [and anyone else's who similarly doesn't have all personal inventory items on their persons].  "Your allotment of supplies awaits you at the lookout post."  She adds, "The general instructed me to provide any last-minute guidance you may require."

The more insightful among you may notice that she seems oddly cold toward you, perhaps even hostile, despite being outwardly the consummate professional, and you don't think the vibe is attributable to just a bad day or general chilly temperament. 

Well, she does shoot the occasional overtly unfriendly look to the ghost.

The more insightful among you...

[So... Olegov and the ghost, then?]

Creon is perched on top of the chest holding my gear and he barks at my arrival.  I give a short whistle and he hops down off the chest and assumes what for a dog is an at-ease stance.

I open the chest and begin to carefully inspect its contents.

I shoulder my knapsack and try to peer into Sergeant PGA's chest.

[Perception: 16 + 3 = 19]

Tin medals and a sack of self-importance I'm sure.

With a nod of satisfaction, I go over to where a metallic bundle sits with my shield, and start donning my army-issue scale over the leather underarmour.  "Corporal, sir?" I ask partway through.  "Sorry to bother you, but could you help me with the straps at the back?"

Oh gods, why do you tempt me?

"Certainly Soldier."

I stand behind her and tighten the first strap.

"Thank you, sir," I say quietly, glancing over my shoulder with a little smile before ducking my head away.

"Make it snappy, soldiers." I say, wanting to get moving as soon as possible. I am so tired. Every possession I have is on my person, save for a small sack of personal things and a change of clothing. The sergeant has a dog! Nice.

Breathe. Stop trying to smell her. Just breathe. Get her out of your mind.

"Certainly Soldier, that is what we are here for, to assist." I glance over at the Sarge, still trying to peek at her chest.

I shoulder my knapsack and try to peer into Sergeant PGA's chest.

[Perception: 16 + 3 = 19]

[I'll leave this to Chaos]

Everything is in order.  Armor.  Check.  Pack with gear.  Check.  Gun Case.  Check.  Ammo case.  Check.  Auxiliary Melee Weapons.  Check.

With no warning and not even checking to see who is looking, I doff my uniform and fold it neatly, putting it away in the chest.

[For those who look, Palitinate is muscle and sinew and scars.  If you see her from the front, there are several prominent scars on her arms and legs.  Three round scars are on her torso.  If you see her from the back, it's covered in a crisscross of long scars.  Some may recognize these as the result of disciplinary lashings.  A large burn scar covers her right shoulder blade.  If you see her right arm, you will notice a black tattoo of a scythe cutting a wizard's staff in two.]

Modesty breeds distrust.  And distrust kills.

Piece by piece I meticulously don my leather armor, finishing by tucking my hair up into a tight fitting leather cap.  I affix a short sword and daggers, making sure they are secure in their scabbards, heft my pack and grab my two cases.

A short sharp whistle to Creon brings him to my side, ready to go.

"Sir.  Ready to deploy, sir!"

I shoulder my knapsack and try to peer into Sergeant PGA's chest.

[Perception: 16 + 3 = 19]

[I'll leave this to Chaos]

[You spy roan colored armor that seems to absorb that light.  An ordinary backpack.  A set of blades consisting of a short sword and two daggers.  A large rectangular case covered in worn black leather with XF-305 SPEC OP: 177 stenciled on it in large white block lettering.  A medium sized square case covered in worn black leather with no markings that you can see.]

After everyone is situated [and has made any last minute checks or inquires they want to make!  Feel free!], Zecklin picks up a torch from a bucket of them in the corner of the chamber, lights it, opens a subtle but not actively disguised trap door in the floor, and leads you down several zig-zagging flights of stairs.  At the end, she unlocks a heavy door with a heavy key, and pushes it open, putting her shoulder into it.  She goes through and lights a pair of braziers, illuminating the mouth of a tunnel that appears to be a natural cave further hollowed out into a proper walkway, just wide enough for a small supply cart to pass through, just high enough for a tall person to stand up nearly straight.

"Forward," she says, pointing into the darkness.  "Then right, then the first left, then straight on for some distance until you reach a ladder up.  That takes you to the lookout post."  She hands the torch to Astra without even looking at her, and turns to return upstairs.  As she passes Leatherleaf, she comments, not too quietly, "And I recommend you leave that thing down here in the caverns, where it belongs," pointing with her chin to the key at the Major's belt, although you suspect the thing and it actually refer to the ghost.

[minus the electric lights, of course]