Downtown in a penthouse located above one of the most popular clubs in the City a large muscular man stood looking out through some glass at the dance floor below. He was clad in a suit; just by looking at him you could tell that the suit was barely able to contain his large frame and muscles. He stood with his feet apart and his hands clasped behind his back. He was gazing out at the mass of bodies, which had reformed after a rather enchanting redhead left the club. A loud knock on the door broke him from his reminiscence. He yelled behind him, temporarily drowning out the dull beat of the music below. “Enter.” His response was brief, as he was a man of few words, though his deep rumbling voice, akin to an earthquake, allowed such. The door to his left opened up, and a short curly haired man in a pair of dress pants and a Hawaiian print shirt entered, with him, the music from the club bled in with greater intensity. It was cut off soon enough as the ornate door closed, forming a near sound proof barrier once more.

The shorter man, Alex, gazed about the lavishly decorated room, directly behind the large man there was a desk befitting of his stature. Across from the desk there were a few chairs, and littered throughout the room other pieces of furniture could be seen here and there. Among them was a red plush sofa of sorts, set against the back wall opposite the desk. Along the walls, some paintings were displayed, an art expert would probably be able to recognize a few of them, history expert even more. All of the items in this room were once stolen, and the man who owned them was the leader of one of the largest criminal organizations in the city, if not elsewhere. Alex approached the desk and paused to speak. “Apologies for the interruption Sir, but I have some news concerning the Vampire Fighter that is a favorite of yours. Brandon, I think he goes by here.” “What is it?” Responded the much taller man. “According to our sources Several people affiliated with both the Order and the SISD have been searching for someone that meets his description and abilities.” At the statement, the larger man turned around, revealing a rather fierce countenance, his nose was broken and he had a series of scars in a pattern akin to claw marks running across his face.

He released his hands from behind him and gestured for Alex to sit, before taking his own large seat. He spoke softly questioning the other man. “How much have they discovered?” “From our sources that they asked? Not much, but they probably have contacts within other organizations apart from ours and those connected to it. So unfortunately we do not know how much they truly know, but our own inquiries have revealed that they know he is somewhere in this city, most likely, they know he has been sighted here a few time in the past.” The large man across from him, Giovanni Nicoletti, nodded and spoke once more. “Do what we can for now, but in his next fight, pit him against Sparky, that will help in determining his skills. The result of his fight and perhaps what happens afterwards will determine how far we will go.” Alex nodded briefly before he stood up and left the room swiftly. Giovanni pushed away from the desk before standing slowly, his body and clothes creaking and groaning from the strain of containing his massive form. He stood up and turned towards the window and spoke softly. “Little Death Mage, I Hope you don’t disappoint this old Bear.”

In the New York base of the SSD, in a dimly lit office sat three people, The Director and the blond Twins. “So you two, what did you want to talk about?” The Director ask as he clasped his hands in front of him on the desk while he sat back in his chair. The male of the Twins spoke saying. “We are worried about Krystal and what will happen should she encounter Tristan. Her feelings were deep, to say the least, and strong. What concerns me the most however is that something removed the emotions soon after they surfaced, she may be the mole, unless she has either Awakened to some version of Mind magic or obtained a Mind clearing Artefact, that is the most likely scenario.” The Director Spoke up as the other man finished. “That is entirely possible, but doubtful, she pasted the recent checks with flying colors. However I do have some idea about who the Order Stooge amidst our ranks is.” He pushed away from the desk before standing and facing the wall behind him before he continued. “That is one of the reasons that I am having you go about this as I have. I hope that It will be to draw out the Mole.”

Stolen story; please report.

The Director turned around to face the elfin twins. “I trust you two much more than any of the other personnel here, especially so when it concerns matters of the Order. After all they are among the ones responsible for you two being the last remaining of your kind in North America. Well the last of those native to North America.” The Director then sat down shortly after he finished that statement. “I will need you two to do a few things when the time comes to it. You will most likely know what time I am talking about by what happens. This will most likely go down when or if we are ‘escorting’ Mr. Carver here.” The Director then opened a drawer in his desk and removed a folder much like those used during the meeting earlier in the day to hold Tristan’s information. He opened it and distributed its contents onto the desk in between the three of them. There were several dossiers of sorts that went with photos attached to their fronts with paperclips. He spread the Dossiers and photos between them evenly and spoke. “ These are the ones we will have to look out for, I have my suspicions about who it is, but I would rather we cover all our bases.”

Elsewhere yet another meeting was taking place in the City of Cross Timber, this one was of a decidedly less beneficial nature to many of those involved. Beneath a large catholic church hewn from stone the Order was gathering its agents to act on their current mission. Almost all the members there were obscured and clad in all sorts of robes and similar manners of dress. At the head of the rectangular room, opposite the entrance and the assembled patrons there was a podium of sorts where a robed and cloaked figure stood. The Figure spoke with an enchanting voice "Thank you Brothers and Sisters for showing up today for our meeting here, with the topic of the recent orders from our Bishop.” During her pause, many of the figures could be seen nodding their assent, others mumbled audibly in agreement. The Figure continued saying. “His Excellency has decreed that we are to end the blight that is a Death mage. He is in fact the survivor of the Cleansing of a Coven many years ago. His Excellency himself was present and was unable to save the poor soul. He now holds a grudge and in the past has targeted our Brothers and Sisters. In the pews in front of you, you will find all the information you need.”

Many of the assembled reached in front of them to grab the referenced information, contained within Hymn books of sorts. For a moment they all looked through the information, before most of the gathered stood up and left through the arched doorway that led into the room one of the few figures still left approached the one who had been speaking. The figure spoke in a lazy and carefree masculine voice. “So when I will I get paid for my services Sister?” The last word of the question being laced with barely disguised sarcasm and contempt. “You shall get your reward once we obtain the Heretic, or once it is confirmed that said Heretic has been Cleansed, no sooner, no later, than that. Your services up to this point have been satisfactory, exceedingly so. Nonetheless we would rather not have to search for you should the information provided be less than accurate. You as well as I know what happened to the last person in your position that disappointed His Excellency. I am sur-“ The figure extensive response was interrupted as their seemingly male counterpart waved their hands and said “Yeah, Yeah I get it, I’lll be back later.” They then swiftly left brushing past the other remaining people. The figure by the podium simply staring where the other person had left, not saying or doing anything.