The soul is separate, in many ways, from the body. Arcanists, priests, cultists, occultists, shrinekeepers, authors, judges, scribes: all agree, all see, and all have their own insight into this strange and enchanting duality.
Even so, different cultures and different religious traditions account for death differently. The Imperial Cult of the Shining Emperor teaches that those who die join the Strength of the Southern Wind: not literally, but a metaphor for that a soul is a gust of wind that is destined to reunite with a greater gale in a realm beyond the earth and seas. In the western uplands, the shrinekeepers teach, more literally, that the dead unite with the spirits of thunder, of fire, of war, of song, and of steeds. Across the sea to the south, the Grand Temple of Ae hosts innumerable scribes whose bickering over the nature of death is rivaled only by the bickering of their kingdoms, but largely they believe that death is a duty undertaken on behalf of the heavens for some greater purpose.
If death has many meanings to many different people, so too does undeath.
The theology of ghosts differs wildly across cultures and across generations, and explanations for their presence (or non-presence) are as numerous as encounters. But there are some things held in common. Ghosts are seen as an inversion of the way of things. Ghosts are rare; ghosts should not be. This may be seen alternately as a deep transgression on the part of the ghost or as an unfortunate circumstance inflicted upon it.
The wisdom of the Imperial Cult holds that ghosts are to be considered lost. They have wandered from their path, whether by accident or by malice, and, while dangerous, ought to be guided back to their path. A short wandering might be forgiven, but recalcitrance on the part of the ghost to return to its rightful place is an affront to the Emperor. Throughout the empire, however, it is exceedingly easy to find folk beliefs that strain or contradict this wisdom: after all, it’s not often that the subject comes up that a Scribe of the cult may scold an observer for contradicting the Emperor’s wisdom.
The party has found that the physical and metaphysical nature of ghosts may vary widely. Most are incorporeal spirits who seem unaware of their condition or their surroundings. As Horwendell put it: “you only need to be restless and dead to be the restless dead.” These ghosts seem to drift through their old routines like well-worn grooves, their minds tranquilly disengaged but for, presumably, some notion of restlessness or incompleteness that keeps them in Materia. A few, however, seem to be aware that they are the dead who walk the world. Algot the Shield, for example, is as incorporeal as his men, but the hateful memory of his captain’s betrayal has served as an anchor to him that keeps his mind fixated on this realm, able to see, hear, speak, and explain himself.
Horwendell presents another case. He, like Algot, is talkative and fully aware, but he seems to inhabit a body unlike his own in life. His body seems corporeal, able to touch, peck, perch, and collide, but like most other ghosts, it seems that only the party is able to see him.