Conspiracy of Women
The interrogation yielded greater results than Scipio Venator could've hoped for. Ruth was conflicted, she had all but abandoned the Goddess Hecate for the Goddess Diana and now it seemed she in turn had been abandoned. Diana was gone, and so were the Twin Mothers. Helea, Ruth's closest confidant and ally was dead, killed by Legionaries in the worst way possible. It was just her, alone, against this Centurion and his guard.
She had no love for the Legion, but she had less hate for them than a Daughter would be expected to. Unlike her peers she had never been personally attacked by the Legion; their seemingly omnipresent antagonization of the southwest wasteland didn't include her people. It helped that Ruth and her people were not tribals. She had been born and raised in a vault. She hailed from Vault 27, a vault that was located in southern New Mexico. She had been educated in a traditional school environment, she had been taught gun safety at a shooting range, she knew what ice cream (or a reasonable facsimile) tasted like. She had grown up in a pre-war environment. She knew about the Romans. She may have found Caesar's Legion amusing when she first encountered them, but they did not attack her and she did not attack them. In fact, before joining the Daughters of Hecate she had been hired by the Legion to harass New Mexico settlements. Of course, she'd gotten out of that game before the other foot dropped. The other mercenaries she'd worked with were all enslaved by the Legion, eventually. She had found a better game in Hecate worship, more security and less danger, and so after awhile with the Daughters she adopted an anti-Legion attitude to fit in.
It was bitterly ironic that now that she finally had a real reason to hate the Legion with all her heart she aided them immensely. She was so full of grief and loss she couldn't think straight. She was scared, too, in a way she had never been scared before. She had lead a sheltered life, and she had never felt threatened by anything on the waste. It was as though she had a special force field and nothing could touch her, no matter how dangerous things got. It had not been a strength so much as foolishness and now it fled her on fleet wings.
The presence of the Centurion was terrifying. He was bedecked in bloodstained armor, and had a face like granite rock. Just behind him stood a man easily seven feet tall, bedecked in unusual black-leather Legion armor, the uniqueness of which only made him more intimidating. He had a long scar reaching from his left eyebrow all the way to the back of his head, and his left eye wandered a little, was a little out of synch with his right eye like it was made out of glass. Both men were knotted with scars, and thick with muscle. They smelled awful, the Centurion a bit like motor oil and the Legionary like blood and shit and leather.
She told them everything, everything she knew. She was just a Harpy, so her glimpses into the inner workings of the Daughters was limited, but it was more than enough for Scipio. She told him about Hecate, the mad tribal Goddess. She told him how the Daughters converted tribes to Hecate worship, about their abduction and indoctrination of tribal infants. Two pieces of information intrigued Scipio the most, namely, the Goddess' plan to raise a perfect army, and the location of the Goddess' headquarters.
"A cabal of women, I knew it," he muttered to himself as he left the interrogation room, escorted by Mortuus Anima, "They're trying to undermine us all, M. I've known for a long time," he continued to mutter, his validation only worsening his paranoia, "Decanus, follow me."
He lead Mortuus into a room covered in pictures and notes. Their were grainy, dirt-covered photographs and drawings of women, women with Centurions and women being held captive, women with elaborate face paintings. There were sketches, endless sketches of a black dot; of a snake eating its own tail.
"See here, scout report on Hangdog tribe," he held up an official report, "One year later, a half-cohort of Centurions Venator, Crassus, Magnus, and Ursus subdue the tribe, wash ritual face paint from captured Hangdogs. Scout report does not mention tribal face paint!"
"Official license of wedding," he violently snatched a folder and held it up to Mortuus' face, "Between Centurion Crassus Arma of Two Suns and daughter of the First Mesa village mayor. Two months later, Centurion Crassus is found dead of apparent rad poisoning, wife is nowhere to be found!"
Mortuus did not see the connection, and did not understand what was wrong, but assumed it all had to do with 'Hecate' and 'Ouroboros.' As near as he could tell it would be perfectly normal for scouts to not report insignificant details and for a Centurion's wife to inexplicably disappear. It was a well-known rumor that Aurelius of Phoenix likely ate his first wife. Yet something about the documents drove Centurion Venator into a fury. He continued to rant and throw ledgers about, furious in his triumph. His eye started to twitch. Mortuus said nothing, as it was not his place to interrupt his Centurion.
Abruptly Venator stopped. He rested his hands on the table and stared furiously at his carefully gathered and compiled evidence towards a conspiracy, a conspiracy against the Legion by a cabal of face-painted and beautiful women. He had been researching quietly for years, and it had all come to this moment. He slowly looked at his Decanus, his pariah Decanus with the non-regulation apparel and massive stature.
"Gather the Decanus. We march for Ouroboros."