Welcome to Gaia! ::

He'd be sparing with his answers when queried on detail. Again, if it came to abilities he never mentioned anything related to the Daemon besides the architecture of the sword itself, and not in damning detail.

He was happy however to describe some of the voodoo, such as shadow workings, speed, and strength. As much was common enough after all.

When it came down to mention of this Gabriel however, the Fledgling wanted to smirk, and reconsider all at once. This, was likely to be one of the sort he was warned to avoid. However, it'd be his quickest ticket to see the rest of the operation AND, learn what they knew about Roan it seemed all at once.

"Gabriel?... Well... I had heard rumors of her being here, in Gaia. It's not the first time i've heard about someone like her though somewhere. Does Gabriel know anything about her? You make it sound like you all know who, or what that thing is... Tell me, please."

He was almost desperate in his plea for more information. Scratch that, he seemed genuinely desperate, though trying to restrain himself. Almost, as if he knew he was already in trouble for his actions tonight.

Falling back into his seat, almost defeated, and dissapointed. The latter true enough, Corbin sighed. For a moment the thought crossed his mind. The thought that he could take these little shits and get to that Gabriel bloke. The more he thought on it though the less logical it sounded. For what purpose? Assassinate the guy that knows about Roan? He wouldn't be the only one, and he was 'downstairs'. If he went deeper on assault then it'd be hard to get back out with all these jumped up bible bashers about.

"I want that b***h dead. I'll help however I can. Besides, Mitch. You still owe me a story."

Her golden eyes drifted slowly open as the gag was removed from her mouth. Her head was bowed, and her mass of wild, vivid red curls tumbled over her shoulders and hid most of her face. Light glinted off the pair of little shiny black horns that curled up from her head as she raised her face to look at her captor. She rolled her head, and her neck and spine crackled all the way down, ending with a little flick of her leathery black tail. The heavy chains around her wrists, neck, and ankles rattled and clinked.

Red lips parted, revealing two sets of sharp little fangs. She tried to speak. Her voice failed her. The girl (for a girl she was, at five foot nothing and barely a hundred pounds, and clearly not even twenty five years old) swallowed, coughed, and tried again.

"Would you be a dear and fetch me some water?" She asked, "After our last conversation, I'm parched." She smiled widely, toothily, and a trickle of blood traced its way down her chin from the small cut on her lower lip.

There were bruises all over her pale skin, owing mostly to her captors not being very gifted with magic. Once they'd broken past her line of ghouls, the only way they could think to stop her casting was to charge right at her. She'd evaded the first few, but someone - she hadn't seen who - caught her by a fistful of her hair, and dashed her head against the nearest gravestone until the violet fire that limned her body went out, and the answering violet flames in the eyes of her minions extinguished as well. Several of her attackers had probably sustained rather horrid burns from the purple fire that had wreathed the raging half-demoness, and those who had tangled with her ghouls would not soon forget it.

So far, all they had established was that she was a necromancer, at least part demon, and a witch to boot. They had wisely stripped her of everything but her tattered black dress. Her silver and bone jewelry, her leather belt with its multiple pouches, and the bone pipe she used to raise and command the dead had all been taken, as had the reason they had captured her: a golden vessel, like a small flask or jar which she and her ghouls had come to the graveyard to acquire.

Needless to say, her having stolen the precious thing from a grave of one of the local Church's most beloved parishioners had not endeared her any to her captors.

The girl's smile grew.

"Tell you what, I'll scratch your itch if you'll scratch mine," She began, "I don't have any associates, except for the one I'm looking for. He's a necromancer, powerful, but not exactly..." she paused, catlike eyes searching for a moment, then she grinned again "he's not nearly as stable as I am. I suspect you and I want the same thing, as far as he goes."

As she waited for a response, her eyes went out of focus for a moment, and she seemed to be staring at something a thousand miles away. She was letting her other senses reach out, sensing for his aura, breathing in his scent, letting her awareness push outwards towards the walls of the room, and further if she could.

She was rewarded by a searing pain in her eyes, not dissimilar to staring into the sun. Her young, expressive face did not hide pain well, in spite of her best efforts. She closed her eyes momentarily, and she might have moved a hairsbreadth further away from her captor before she opened them again, and she opted not to meet his eyes to try to ensnare him in an illusion.

She supplied the answers honestly, quickly, and accurately, and that was the beauty of it.

"I knew him as Old Nic, which is possibly short for Nicodemus. I do not know his true age, but I believe he is very, very old. His appearance tends to change, but the last body I saw him wearing was a middle aged man, just under six feet, fairly solidly built, with green eyes and salt and pepper hair, crows' feet at the corners of his eyes, and wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, from smiling all the time." She paused, her eyes growing distant for a moment, and her voice grew almost childlike and almost meek. "I don't like his smile."

She recovered quickly.

"He has gone mad, and is likely to kill many innocents. While my reasons for not wanting that may differ from yours, I do have them. An out-of-control necromancer can't always control what he raises, and there tend to be..." she trailed off, another flicker of fear, or maybe pain, crossed her face,

"...Accidents." She concluded.

"I followed him here. I hoped to find help from an old acquaintance, so I could hunt him down. He's left a rather nasty trail, and he should not be hard to track, if you know what to look for. I'm willing to help you find him, and I will happily let you have him, so long as you will promise me you will not allow him to hurt anybody else. I've been too slow catching up to him on my own, and I'm afraid he's killed a great many people already."

The demoness was not lying, the earnestness in her voice and unearthly eyes was genuine. She had long since discovered that the truth was a far better tool than a lie, and in this case, she wasn't foolish enough to think lying would get her anywhere she wanted to be. And perhaps, having been handed a much bigger fish, he would forget about the relic she'd tried to steal.

"Nicodemus. Not a common name, even here. Thankyou, this will be enough to make a start on, though you will excuse me if I do not take the assurances of a witch at face value."

Setting the thermos of tea down close to the woman, Boyle stood up.

"The sketch artist will be down to see you soon. Help him draw this man, and I will ensure you are fed. After that, if we can verify this acquaintance you talk of wanting help from... prehaps I will consider making use of you to find this man. Should any of what you have said prove to be false however... it will be my pleasure to let Mitch take his just revenge. You will be held responsible for the deaths at the cemetary."

Boyle waited for no reply, and left the room, locking it behind him.







Meanwhile upstairs, Mitch was scowling. At Corbin.

"We haven't entirely confirmed it was her, and not someone more... mature. She's just a kid, really. But then, they don't package em with top hats and obvious evil.
Boyle promised if its her... I'll be there. whether he'll let you hang around to investigate this problem of yours I can't say. Maybe he will. It's a nightmare here, and I wont lie... we need more hands on deck. The report has already gone back to Rome, but it's going to be months before we have enough front liners to cut into this heathen mess.

If I can get justice for my sister before then though.... that'll be enough."




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In Durem... a city of the un-natural... the man with the spray-paint tan lines got a fair share of stares while he was still in populated areas, until he receeded to the shadows from whence he had come.

No one stopped him however, no one commented, though one could only imagine how much trouble the smell of his new 'make-up' may cause him if it didn't tone down in the near future, as he headed out.

I have nothing to add about your equipment. That's YOUR worry. Excuse me while I attempt to track down the fourth wall and put it back.

"You don't believe a kid can be dangerous? That monsters will come in any shape to stop good men from putting them down? That's why you're a pen pusher, Patrick. That's why we don't have enough men on the front line, so to speak.

A war for the soul is like any other war. There will always be violence, and decisions some question. But a monster who looks like a younger lady and raises ghouls that kill a GENUINE young girl? Believe me when I say I can kill her."

Taking one of the smokes, Mitch declined to answer the numbers question - whether out of smarts, pique, or genuine ignorance, who knew, but he answered the rest quickly enough, and with a healthy dose of venom to boot.

"All I see is the face of my sister, Patrick. Hell, the way you talk about it... you're a kid yourself."

Mitch opened his mouth to spurt out a rejoiner, however it was at this point Boyle returned from wherever he had been, opening the door in the middle of the conversation, and directing the long-suffering artist downstairs.

"The witch gave me a name. Nicodemus. We'll look into it, and if we can't find any truth in it... she's all yours, Mitch. Any way you slice it, whetehr she's truthful and useful... she's going to have to find salvation the hard way."


"...that bad?"

"She reacts to my presence. The touch would likely burn her. There is no way back once its that bad."


Mitch hung his head briefly, then sighed and nodded.