Crystalline snowflakes fell slowly from the gray sky above Hiadref, creating a fresh layer of powder over the already compacted precipitation on the ground.  The trade district was particularly quiet, the colder temperatures keeping most of the Hifae citizens in their homes.  Most of the vendors remained open, catering to the few who dared to brave the cold.  A figure walked slowly down the main street of the district, fur lined leather boots crunching against the snow.  A heavy fur cloak hung from the figure, clinging to an obviously female silhouette.  The hood was drawn about the woman's head so as to shield her from the cold.    

It did not take much further for the woman to reach her destination.  She pushed open the door to a small shop, signage indicating that it sold various books and manuscripts. Upon entrance, a kindly looking man glanced up at her from the shop's counter, offering her a warm smile.  He was balding, indicating that he was coming past middle aged, and wore glasses down towards the tip of his slightly crooked nose.  "G'day M'lady," he said, the tone of his voice just as kind as his appearance.  The rest of his appearance matched that of the Hifae, as was custom - foreigners were not allowed to run businesses within the limits of the city of Hiadref.  "Must say I'm a bit surprised to see anyone venture out in this cold and snow!"

The woman lowered her hood, curled crimson locks falling out from their confinement, falling past well past her shoulder blades.  "Aye, the air certainly carries a bit of a chill this day," she said, offering the shopkeeper a warm smile in return.   "However, I am only in Hiadref for a short time, and I could not pass up the chance to visit this shop.  I've heard tell that you manage to acquire many rare… packages, and I happen to be interested in such," she said, the warm smile beginning to fade from her lips, shifting into something a bit more sinister.  The man narrowed his eyes at her slightly, as though to scrutinize her.

"You've heard utter rubbish, then, M'lady," he said, rather dismissively.  He turned away from her, busying himself with a stack of books.  She cleared her throat, however, and he looked up at her once more.

"It's not rubbish, Mordecai," she said, using the shop keepers name.  His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, though he was cut short by the woman speaking once more.  "Do you remember, some time back, you struck a deal with a woman?  She was about my height, but very dark skin and hair?  She promised that you would be able to conduct the… business… that you wished, without any interference or chance of being caught?"  The man opened his mouth once more to speak, but the red-haired woman merely held up a hand towards him.  It was clear within a moment, however, that the gesture alone was not intended to silence him, as tendrils of black shadow materialized, wrapping themselves about the shopkeepers' throat.  He made a choking noise and seemed to understand.  The woman lowered her hand and the tendrils vanished, leaving the Hifae man clutching at his throat and gasping for breath - however, he remained silent and allowed her to continue speaking.

"I'm just here to… check in on things," she said, her eyes piercing into his own.  "Take me to them," she said.  The shopkeeper merely stared at her and did not move, until she lifted her hand as though to strangle him once more.  He immediately jumped into motion and beckoned for her to follow.  She did, and he led her back to the storage area through a door behind the counter.  Shelves of books lined the walls, and Mordecai walked up to one in particular.  He grabbed one book, pulled out on it slightly, and the bookcase slid to the side, revealing another door.  He fished a key out from his waist satchel and unlocked the door.  The two stepped inside.

The next scene was far from pleasant.  Several girls, most appearing to be of Adelunian origin, were chained to the wall in various states of injury and undress.  In the back corner, there lay four or five corpses, each one of another similar looking girl.  The corpses appeared to have been there for some time, given the smell and state of decay.  "You've been sloppy," the woman said to the shopkeeper, gesturing towards the pile of decomposing bodies.  "City guard is on to you - the keeper at the apothecary next store has been able to smell them for days," she said, her nose crinkling up in disgust.  "I'm disappointed, Mordecai.  You seemed to have potential, but instead, you've wasted the gift my mistress granted me the ability to give you, and now I've had to come back and clean up after you."

The woman waved her hand towards the girls in the room, the same shadowy tendrils snaked their way around the throats of each of the girls chained up, though they seemed to be much more aggressive in their constriction.  Within moments, all of the girls went from gasping for breath to lying dead on the floor.  She lowered her hand and turned back to Mordecai, whose eyes had widened in utter terror.  "You see, that dark skinned woman?  My old body.  I like this one much, much more.  Jazrael, in case you don't remember my name," she said, holding out a hand towards him as if she wanted him to shake it in some ritual of formal introduction.  He merely stared at her.  "Rude," she muttered and lowered her hand.  

"So, last we spoke I told you I would arrive for payment when it suited me.  Your operation is no longer sustainable.  You see, Lady Dalanesca was able to reap the souls of many ruiners from your work," she began, her explanation coming out as a bit of a tale.  "All those men who paid you handsomely to come in and rape them, hurt them.. kill them…" she trailed off, her tongue darting out across her lips, wetting them.  "Since you will no longer be able to keep this… business afloat, I've come to collect."  Mordecai began to reach for the satchel of coins on his waist.  "Not your silver, not your gold… not your rarest manuscript in your inventory," she said.  "My mistress requires something much more valuable."

Once more, she raised her hand to Mordecai.  This time, however, no tendrils wrapped about the man's neck.  Jazrael's eyes turned a deep crimson red, and as she smiled deviously at the man, his skin began to rot much as the discarded corpses of the women in the corner.  "She'd much rather have your soul,"  she said, watching as the man fell to the floor, in a state of decomposition far to advanced for a man who had just been killed.  

Satisfied with herself, Jazrael walked back out of the hidden room and out of the shop, exiting back into the falling snow, not bothering to raise her hood this time - her face darkened with the satisfaction of the deed she had just comitted.  As she exited, the city guard could be seen in the distance, clearly on their way to investiage the shop she had just exited.  She smiled to herself and continued to slowly walk down the road, no real destination in mind.

"Was anyone witnessed coming or leaving?"

"No, sir…Well, I think I may have seen a woman out of the corner of my eye. I wasn't sure if she went next door, and didn't get a good look at her."

Guardsman stood huddled betwixt buildings amidst the torrential blizzard, querying the local apothecary.
"You said that the foul smell had been about long before now, but we have reasons to believe there were one or more collaborators involved in this heinous operation. Are you sure you can't remember any details?"

"Captain," the lieutenant cut in, as their witness could only shrug and shake their head sheepishly. "That murderer that recently escaped someplace on the mainland…The one they call Adema…a few concerned residents claimed to have spotted him in the area. If he has the same hair in the posters, he might be mistaken for a woman at a distance."

"Interesting…Do you know where he was last seen?"





Staggering out of the tavern into the bitter cold was a man that clearly had far too much to drink. He wore no jacket, and nary but tattered rags clung to his slight, but muscular frame. His attire was mingled with finery that looked as though it used to hold great value, but had degraded to waste from extreme wear and unidentified stains. He seemed wholly unaffected by the chill, for he trudged through the snow with bare feet. The only possible source of protection form the biting winds might have been his thick, dark hazelnut, dreadlocked hair; but even this was pulled up and tied in a sloppy sort of top knot.

The man had not been thrown out by any means. His own paranoia drug him from the establishment. Too many wandering eyes in his direction. Too many hushed whispers. Fortune favors not only the bold, but also the observant.
How he could observe anything at all seemed to be somewhat of a miracle, for his stupor was so great, that his sickly golden eyes were barely slit open, as though sleep-walking. His eyes opened a little when he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulders, restrained, and led in another direction. Overall, he barely reacted to being detained. Even as he was shouted at and struck repeatedly.

Scents of death and rot were somewhat sobering. He did not even remember going into a building, but now Adema was in a cellar, surrounded by corpses and five guardsmen. He had been forced to his knees before the bodies.


"Look tasty, monster?" one of the guards snapped, gesturing at the slaughter before him.

There were many tales of Adema. The details of his origins were many and wildly varying, but one thing that seemed to be agreed upon as common knowledge was that he was a cannibal; or at the very least, had partaken of forbidden flesh at one point in time.

In some tales, he was a hermit and fur-trapper, who, for whatever reasons, took to hunting people instead. Perhaps a lycan or wendigo encounter…though the man had never demonstrated any changes of form. In others, he was a soldier from Adeluna who had lost his family, and had snapped from the many conflicts he had been a part of. There were stranger and more arcane explanations as well, suggesting he may have been an overly-ambitious wizard's apprentice that sought the nature of reality itself and went mad.

He did not practice magic, though. Certainly not the real kind, at least. Slight-of-hand may be a possibility on the table, for, unbeknownst to the guards, he had freed himself of his bindings on the way to this horrific scene. They only hung slack about his wrists for show.

"Convenient," Adema remarked in response at last in his gravelly tone, after some pause to collect himself. "Some people are found dead, so the one that excels at making people dead is blamed by default. Bravo."

This snide remark earned Adema an elbow to the face, knocking him off his knees onto his side upon the dingy blood-stained floor. He shook as though sobbing, but as he rolled over, the wide grin upon his face showed otherwise. He chuckled darkly as his nose bled, running down his filthy, stubble-covered jaw.
Even more outraged by the fugitive's amusement, the guard that had struck him got him up to his feet. Just as he did so, Adema's arm's lashed about, and in a flash, one went to the man's neck, and he backed away from him and the other four, empty hands at his sides.

It happened so quickly, it looked like he had only chopped his captor upon the neck…but a dagger wound resided at the site of an artery. The victim choked as blood bubbled up in his mouth, and fell to his knees in turn, clutching the wound. His kinsmen drew their swords in a panic.
"Are you all daft?! This bastard is armed! He was supposed to have been checked!" the Captain hissed.

"We did check him, sir…"


"Never mind it…as one!"

The four men lunged at the mangy vagabond. Adema proved to be a mystifying combatant, however. Flashes of the daggers he wielded were seen, albeit briefly. In one hand he held a sai, with prongs that were perfect for parrying larger weapons if one possessed the skill and strength. With one quick dance about the men as they swung, he had sent all of their blades clanging to the floor, and had put his own blades away again, hidden on his person somewhere. One by one, he slashed, maimed, and stabbed the men as they frantically dove for their weapons. His movements were seamless and almost elegant, despite the brutality which he displayed, ending the dance of death with two regular daggers, one in each hand.

Now in a room of nothing but corpses, he did not bother with his talents. Adema placed the knives back into the folds of his attire leisurely, and walked back upstairs. He looked upon the shriveled corpse of what was likely the former owner of the establisment with mild curiosity before stepping back out into the unforgiving tundra.

The frozen ground crunched loudly beneath Jazrael's feet as she continued to walk away from the shop.  She stopped after a considerable amount of time when the shop was still just barely in her line of sight.  As she turned around, however, she saw a strange looking man enter the shop before the guards had even arrived.  One eyebrow quirked in curiosity, as she watched the city guard enter not long after him.  She smirked, always entertained by the city guard of this town or that village finding a horrendous and gruesome crime scene that they could not explain.  The strange man that had gone in had perhaps been one of the other shop owners that had tipped the guards off, or perhaps he was someone altogether different.  It made no difference to her - she just found a sick satisfaction in watching the crimes of the wretched (and herself, as well) be discovered by those sound of mind and sound of heart.  It always made for a good bit of entertainment.

She watched for some time, waiting for the guards to emerge - but more and more time went on and no one emerged from the bookshop.  This piqued Jazrael's interest, so she moved back in the direction from whence she had come and continued watching the shop - until the strange man emerged, alone.  The guards did not exit with him.  The scent of death followed him out of the building, and she closed her eyes momentarily as she inhaled the sickly sweet smell of rot and decay… though it was coupled with something else - the coppery scent of freshly spilled blood.  With narrowed eyes, her form shimmered slightly, before disappearing completely from view.

She reappeared in the hidden room of the shop where she had been not very long ago - though the scenery had changed rather dramatically.  The pile of rotting girls remained in one of the corners, along with those who she had strangled by means of spellwork.  The desiccated corpse of the shopkeeper remained as well, though his decayed remains were spattered with the blood of the city guards who had entered after the strange man earlier.  They had clearly been slaughtered by someone talented with a blade, and she could only assume that individual would be the one who had emerged before she had re-entered.

Jazrael was in the business of making deals for the Goddess of Death.  It was her sworn duty as a demon in Death's servitude to make deals with mortals, the price of which would be their soul at whatever time Lady Dalanesca requested such.  She was not in the business of caring about the affairs of others, nor was she in the business of meddling in said affairs - but this strange character had come into her work of art and ruined it.  A fit of rage coursed through her veins as she looked at the dark blood, smelled the sweet metallic tinge it carried.   She furrowed her brow and let out a loud yell in frustration.

"Proper work ruined for a couple slashes with a blade?  No respect for art," she said aloud.  She squatted down beside one of the freshly dead girls, grabbing the corpse's head by its hair and holding it up as though to have a conversation with it.  "Blood all over your beautiful gown," she said, pointing with her free hand at the girls' once-white nightgown she wore  "I'll be having some words with this one, I think," she said.  "You can come with as a… visual aid," she said, and turned to walk out of the room, grabbing the corpse by the arm.  A sickening pop sounded as she dislodged the shoulder bone from its socket, and the body lolled to one side as she attempted to drag it.  "…Fine," she said, and with a look of annoyance, she waved her free hand towards the body.  A ghostly blade appeared in the air, immediately hacking the dead girl's arm from her body.  "Good enough," Jazrael said, shrugging to herself, and walked out of the room, resting the arm on her own shoulder. 

She exited the building, the severed arm still held over her shoulder.  She could still see the man in the distance, and she walked quickly to catch up with him.  There were no others in the street at this point, as the wind had picked up and snowflakes swirled in small cyclones.  The temperature had dropped substantially, as well.  With no warning shout or the like, Jazrael took the severed arm by its hand and hurled it directly at the stranger's back.  "You didn't clean up your mess!" she shouted after she had released the arm.  Her crimson hair swirled about her head in the wind, and the look on her face mirrored that of annoyance.  "You ruined my project.  Awfully rude of you," she called, shifting to stand with her hands on her hips.  "Don't suppose you're planning on coming back to clean it up, are you?"

Despite having enough control of his faculties to slay the guardsmen so swiftly in the basement of the book shop, Adema was still in a bit of a spirit-soured haze. He stopped when he felt something thud against his back, but took several moments to truly react to it. Whirling about on the balls of his still bare feet, he regarded the woman that tossed it at him. He understood now what had happened, and shook his head, chuckling to himself manically.

"Life…like death, is messy, madame. I do not place it upon myself to tidy it in any way, shape, or form," Adema intoned with his deep, gritty voice. He began to slowly stagger through the snow towards the woman, much in the manner of a large, albeit awkward jungle cat stalking its prey. His overall body language remained open, however, despite the implacably threatening nature of the advance. "If by clean up, you are referring to loose ends, I've never paid them much mind either…unless you insist."

Adema sniffed the air audibly as he approached. They now stood face to face, but he took to circling about her, looking her up and down. "I believe it is you that have made the faux pas, dear. You are addressing someone while in possession of stolen property."
It seemed only somewhat clear what he was implying with this statement. He had a certain way of saying a lot without really saying anything at all. It was clear enough though that he possessed senses preternatural enough to tell that there was more to the woman than met the eye.

"Also, ruined is such a harsh word…I took a canvas with something already tasteful upon it, and made it a masterpiece."

Jazrael tilted her head to one side, smiling brightly at the man as he spun around to face her.  Her smile did not waver, even as he emitted laughter laden with insanity - laughter that would have worried any normal passerby who had encountered him.  Jazrael, however, was not any normal passerby.  She was something different herself, the humor glinting in her eyes at the action she had just carried out.  Glancing down, she noticed that his feet were completely naked to the elements, which furthered her suspicion that there was something very much off about this strange man - all the more interesting for her to converse with, it would seem.

"You clearly don't know Death very well, if you think she is messy," she responded, her eyes locking onto the man's face as he moved awkwardly through the snow towards her.  She stood her ground, the same beaming smile still fixed on her lips.  His next statement, which was clearly meant to be a threat in some way, shape or form, did not go unheard - though she was more annoyed at the threat than anything.  "No, what I refer to is the disgusting mess you left behind after your little… knife party you held back there," she said, jabbing her thumb back in the direction of the shop in which they had both committed some rather disturbing atrocities.  "And if these loose ends you speak of are referring to me, well… You will be disappointed if you try," she said, her smile faltering only slightly. 

She kept her eyes on him as he began to circle her, but did not bother to turn her head when he rounded her back  When he came back into view, she caught the connotations of his next statement rather clearly.  She remained silent, regarding him with narrowed eyes, the smile now having faded from lips painted nearly the same shade as her fiery crimson hair.  "Careful what accusations you make, stranger," she said, curiosity flickering in her eyes.  She found it rather interesting that he was so perceptible to her state within the host body she had chosen, but that he was rather cryptic about his pointing it out.  "I think maybe we have particular differences in our philosophies," she began.  "For example, I am a firm believer that someone cannot possess property once they are dead.  The soul that used to inhabit this body is dead and gone, serving the Reaper in Inferos."  She glanced down at her body, and without another word shrugged off the fur cloak she wore.  With her empty hands, she cupped her breasts, giving a slightly disturbed laugh.  "Couldn't let these tits go to waste, now could I?" she said, giving them a bit of a buff up before dropping her hands to her sides once more.  

She regarded him for a moment while listening to his final phrase, offering no response.  After a short moment, she walked over and picked up the arm that she had earlier tossed at him.  Returning to her face-to-face positioning, she waved the arm around at him, jabbing it towards him as though it were pointing its finger at him.  "I didn't ruin it, I made it beautifulllll…" she said, her voice taking on a rather moronic tone as though to mock him, drawing out the last syllable an unnecessarily long amount of time.  She tossed the arm to the side once more, and looked back to the stranger, her hands finding their way to her hips.

"What I'm more interested in than anything is what you were doing in there, and why the guards gave you credit for my work?" she explained.  She dropped her hands to her sides again, letting out an annoyed sigh.  "And who… or rather what, you are."  She regarded him once more, eyes piercing into his own.  She took in his wild appearance, intrigued enough to push her to want to press on.  "I can see your presence must be rather intimidating to most… and that you are excellent with a blade - I will certainly credit you for that."  She paused, as though heavily contemplating her next statement.  "Unfortunately for you, I am not so easily frightened… but it seems that you are not either."

With a fluid-like movement, a dagger appeared in Jazrael's hand.  "Existence is your canvas, and the blood is your paint," she said, in a rather contemplative voice. "But tell me - what kind of masterpiece could an artist such as yourself paint with this?" she asked, and with a swift movement she dragged the dagger across the flesh exposed above her breasts, the blade following just below her collar bone.  The dark metal cut into her pale flesh, a sizeable amount of blood seeping forth from the wound.  The color of the blood, however, was not the typical red of a human, but a jet black - that of something from the depths of Inferos itself.  She tilted her head at the stranger, her eyes still filled with curiosity - though when she blinked, the emerald hue that once colored the irises, as well as the whites of her eyes, had been replaced with a jet black void.  She said nothing, only staring at him as the black blood seeped into the white cloth of the tunic she wore, staining the pristine fabric.  It was clear that she was making an attempt to egg the stranger on, perhaps looking for a fight, or maybe something else, but she was looking for entertainment none the less.

"She?" Adema questioned, perplexed by the strange woman's assignment of gender to Death itself. "On the contrary, Life and Death and nearly the same - but two sides of the same coin. One is not a beginning, and the other is not the end as so many foolishly believe. It's not that simple…"
He snickered darkly at her next words. "Every kill is another disappointment," he retorted off-handedly, the implications of the insult not entirely untainted by his curious air of ominous vagueness. Fitting for his mind, which seemed to dwell in a realm free of the Divine which the woman so clearly spoke of.

"Many cultures would tend to disagree with you," the madman noted as he circled back around the woman to face her. The elevated notes in his voice indicated a piqued interest when she wished to discuss philosophy. "What you may see as liberating and re-using, others would see as pilfering and defiling. Perspective is an interesting thing," he concluded, neglecting to give his exact personal thoughts on the matter.

Adema had little response to the lurking malignancy within the woman's appraisal of the physical body before him; nor did he react to being mocked. This was an unspoken game of cards, and yet…he seemed quite candid thus far. At the drop of a hat, it seemed he would be comfortable placing his entire hand upon the table. "I have a reputation," he replied flatly to her. "I am only a man. My talents and how I am perceived are irrelevant…having conviction in a singular purpose can often be intimidating to some."

Poker face receding to the tell-tale quiet mirth they seemed to share between the two of them, Adema shook his head. He watched with a glint in his eye as the woman ran the blade across the swell of her bosom. Her eyes had taken on the murky tint of her lifeblood, in a show of intimidation of her own. "You know nothing of the Great Work which I have sought. Existence is not my canvas, it is my problem. It is an inquiry that has led me to reaching out and touching the very face of God."
When God was mentioned, it was clear that he did not refer to any of the known deities in the world, but some other concept, possibly invented by his own deranged mind.

Drawing two of his own weapons from his ragged tunic, a dagger and a sai, Adema calmly, albeit dexterously twirled them about his fingers, and traded them back and forth seamlessly.
"If you are as upset as you claim to be, I have a hunch there are more nefarious methods than a blade you could have dispatched me with. If it is curiosity that drives you, a will to possess a play-thing, or a desire to see another servant go to whatever place you come from, you too will be found wanting. I have no qualms about exorcising your corpse and moving on. If you don't want that, I suggest you end me and be done with it."

Hysterical laughter suddenly burst forth from betwixt the crimson haired woman's lips as she doubled over, clearly amused by something the stranger had said.  It took her several moments to regain her composure, but as it returned she up-righted herself and looked at him once more.  "If you think that Life and Death are one in the same, you are severely mistaken," she said rather breathlessly.  "They're quite literally polar opposites, though they are rather good friends," she said, the words coming across as an afterthought.  She thought on his next words, dwelling on them for a moment before continuing to speak.  "You're right about them not necessarily being the beginning and the end, though they are in some sense - but it certainly is not simple, as you say.  What I know of Life and Death is much more intimate than some have ever experienced - and some refuse to believe it at all," she said, clearly indicating the stranger with whom she conversed at the tail end of her words.  

"Frankly, I don't care who disagrees with me and who agrees with me," she said, the words devoid of much emotion.  It was clear that her statement was truthful, and it was - she was, for the most part, apathetic about most things, save that of her duties.  She did not pry when he offered no information on his own thoughts, though she did remain curious.  

"Reputations are a dangerous thing," she replied, as the man finished his explanation to one of the questions of which she had asked.  "I have an awful lot of different reputations, depending on where I am… or what body I am in," she added, as an afterthought.  As he explained that he was nothing supernatural in terms of his general being, she quirked an eyebrow.  The scene she had found with the guards, and how short of an amount of time it had occurred in, caused her to think otherwise - but she chose not to comment on it.

A look of something else washed over her face as the stranger seemed wholly unaffected by her display- something that had scared countless men in her myriad of years walking the mortal plane.  It seemed that she was disappointed in his lack of emotion at her display.  With another blink, her eyes returned to their previous emerald state, and she shifted position, tucking her dagger back away.  The slice across her chest had already begun healing, a perk of her demonic blood that had further been enhanced during her servitude to the Reaper - a being who this stranger before her did not seem to believe existed.  

She found the stranger's words to be rather curious.  It seemed that he had a belief system of his own - and as Jazrael was quite close with the true deities of Revaliir, she wondered what it had been that had spawned his beliefs in whatever higher power it was he referred to as "God."  She parted her lips to question him of this, but he began to draw his own weapons and she snapped her mouth shut, deciding that now would not be the time for discussion.  She did not move to defend herself, but her eyes did widen slightly as she grew more alert.  

Jazrael remained silent for a time after the man had finished speaking.  "I would not say that I am upset in the slightest.  I merely wanted to know why you thought it necessary to add your own component to an already beautifully despondent scene," she said, shrugging her shoulders slightly.  "I am very curious to know a bit more about what drives you, and I am sure that you would make an excellent… plaything," she continued, giving pause as she slowly wet her lips with her tongue.  "And I don't know that my… employer… would like you much as a servant," she added - though in truth someone of his mental state was right up Dalanesca's alley when it came to breaking those who were to serve her.

His next statement brought a smile to her lips.  "You can't kill me… though, I think you know that.  Of course, you could destroy this beautiful host I've got here, rip this lovely little body to shreds until it isn't physically capable of movement any longer… but my essence would just head straight back down to Inferos, until the Reaper found me another suitable host," she said.  "That would be a heavy inconvenience for me, to be honest," she continued.  "I like this body.  I want to keep this one."  She eyed his weapons for a moment, and thought better of drawing her own.  "You can try to best me, if you'd like, but perhaps we should just agree that neither one of us would be happy with the outcome," she offered, her expression warming ever so slightly.

"You know," she said, as though a thought had just popped into her mind.  "If existence is your problem, as you've said… I could introduce you to the two beings who are responsible for both sides of existence as mortals know it," she said, smirking slightly.  Though she knew the chances of this stranger accepting an offer from her were slim to none, the prospect of his reaction upon meeting both the Goddesses of Life and Death was downright hilarious - and she knew that both Ladies Angela and Dalanesca would find it so as well.  They were a troublesome pair when together.  "I think you would be very interested in the information you could learn from such a meeting," she added again, tilting her head once more as she analyzed her could-be opponent, curious as to whether or not he would strike at her with his weapons, or accept her offer to learn a bit more about the things he did not truly believe in.