As Nevin sat in the corner, the hours trailing by unnoticed by the man, he was also thinking about Stare and her situation. There was something bugging him about it all, and now he had some time to think about it. The most prominent thing was what had happened when they had taken down that demonic mage and interrogated him.

A being approached my master. That choice of words had stuck in Nevin’s head, quietly waiting for an opportunity to make itself known. And it was a strange wording - most people only used being when they didn't know what they were referring to, didn't even have a clue of it. Which meant that the thing that had approached the mage’s sponsor couldn't have been of the races he knew which as a bounty hunter were likely considerable.

Nor could it have been a demonic entity. As a mage bound to one demon, the man would have recognized another - unless of course, he had been told about the request. In which case the lack of definition on the part of this ‘brother’ was even stranger - there would only be a few things that a demon would listen to without dismissing out of hand. Nevin frowned in the shadows as he thought about that.

Whatever this brother was - and Stare had quite vehemently rejected the fact that he had a brother at the time, so it had to be a brother of her master? - was something that had enough power for a Demon to actually heed a request from them. It could be a powerful mage - but if it was a powerful mage, why not act on their own? Why go through intermediaries? This brought Nevin to some of the last words of the mage. The reason the unknown being had approached the demon and asked it to intervene, kidnapping Stare.

... interfered in mortal affairs… It was an innocuous line, said just before the mage had begged for forgiveness and died. But it was strange, out of place. There were other races, immortal entities of varying calibers - Elthas claimed that his race of Elves were immortal, for example, and Nevin knew of at least one plant that would never die of old age. But even those races didn't refer to mortals the same way, and they certainly didn't have views against interfering in their business - most of them still moved around in the world, mixing daily with the other races.

Nevin’s attention was dragged from his thoughts by a distinctly odd individual walking down the street. The man was striding through the street, his head held high - unusual enough in this downtrodden area. Add on to that the fact that he was wearing a crimson robe - and Nevin did not need his magic singing to him to realize just what the robe had been dyed with - and carrying a cruelly hooked knife hanging from his belt, and that a lot of his skin was covered in scars or faintly bleeding lines…

The small crowd of people, wearing white robes that had bloody red streaks on them, that was following this red-robed man, only served to further reassure Nevin. He had found at least one of the cultists. A few minutes passed as the man stopped on a street corner, lifting his hands as he began to preach, telling of the glories of Crimson - drawing a larger crowd that included Nevin in it. Some of the people dispersed as the man finished his sermon, but others followed, and the alchemist went with them.