Yeah, come on in. Sit down before someone wonders why you're staring at them, or at us. Wouldn't want someone to mistake you for a Monitor down here, my friend. Nope. Not at all.

So what do you think? No, I bet this wasn't what you were expecting at all. People talked to you about "Freewraiths," or whatever they call us, and you thought maybe it was some dude pulling a Ben Kenobi out in the deserts, someplace.

Nope. Not for most of us, anyway. Some folks like to be alone, but they're not the sort I deal with. I've been here for about twenty years this past June and I'm happy to say that I'll be here for however longer we last for.

I've been free almost as long as I've been dead, and for all the trouble it sometimes is, it's worth every damn minute.

Who We Are & What We Don't Do:

Anyway, I'm not surprised this is such a surprise to you. Part of the problem with being a Freewraith is that, technically, you aren't supposed to exist.

The Hierarchy says that everyone's either a Legionnaire in their war, the enemy, or the renegade helping the enemy. Of course, that's a real dumb-ass simplification of the matter, but no one ever accused the Hierarchy of being intelligent. But on the flip side, if you don't join a gang and wear colors then the Renegades don't really want your ass, either.

And what other options do you have? Enthrall yourself to some asshole who might maybe let you call yourself a Journeyman in a hundred years, all for secrets you might learn yourself? Skinride hookers for Barney the Purple Demiurge for what might just turn out to be another damn lie? Pretty bleak choices, there.

So Freewraiths fall between the cracks, and that's almost always by choice. We really don't give two shits about "the cause" or "the enemy." Transcendence is a nice story to tell the Enfants in your cult about, and the Guilds can keep their secret handshakes to themselves. We're not here to be soldiers in some dumbass' war.

We're here, we're dead, and we might as well make the best of it without being ordered around like lemmings on a deathmarch. I guess that's what our deal is.

DIY or Die {Again}:

Now I bet you're going to ask the smart question, here: if you don't get with the program, how do you survive?

Good question. The answer we like to say is that we don't need them. Information wants to be free, right? Well, we share what we got with one another.

Our communities resemble what old, Quick communities used to be like before people got the idea that sitting behind a desk and pushing papers around was an honest profession. You need your face fixed? Go see Charlie. Need something made? Go see Bob. Bob needs some Juice? You know how to harvest it? Maybe you make a deal with Bob. Or maybe you pay cash. That's up to you two to decide.

So that's what you'll find around here. Quid pro quo, like they say in the movies. We're independent or we're sunk.

But... that was the ideal answer.

The honest answer is to say that we aren't completely independent of the other groups. We still need some Guilds from time to time, but we never let any real Guildwraiths into our confidence except for the Pardoners. Them we can trust. They've never let us down and I don't think they're going to start now, either.

Anyway, if you need a Guildster, you go to them. You don't say who you're with or anything like that. Likewise with material goods. We can do some good stuff on our own, of course, but the Artificers got the corner on the market with swords that don't break. And, of course, if you have to go up top and buy goods from the mother of all bastards itself... good luck and I don't know you if you get caught.

Some groups are so autonomous that some of them haven't needed to come out of their holes in ages. I don't know who they are or how they manage, of course. You think I'd be here if I did?

So yeah, to be honest we're still in contact with the sort of folks we don't want to join up with. Sometimes it makes for good business, and sometimes it makes for problems - especially when Dan the friendly Artificer realizes that you've got his runaway Apprentice hiding under the stairs.