Free Marches ,Starkhaven, 11:00 am, Wintermarch 2012
A simple black car stopped before the large, fancy house. The only passenger, a black haired, middle-aged man in army clothes, brushed his fingers over the half-open leather case lying in his lap. His impassive eyes passed over Sebastian Vael's villa, unaffected by its wealthy façade.
His uniform was quite plain, a grey fatigue uniform. Only a golden seeker's symbol on his shoulders gave away his high rank. The Seeker's face, thin and not sun-kissed, partly hidden by thick quadrangular glasses, was thoughtful as he pulled the folders closer.
His mind was still pondering the leather case's content.
Two stocky folders with the stamp SECRET INFORMATION on each of them, each containing all they could gather about two extremely dangerous mutants he was after. Mutants that had somehow managed to escape the long hands of the Chantry Institute so far.
The Seeker opened the first folder, examining a picture of a blond, gaunt young man with an aristocratic nose and tired brown eyes. This was their most recent picture of Anders, known as The Healer (his real name or origins were quite a mystery), taken a few days before the incident (which was more than a half year ago). This mutant had a rare gift of mending people instead of hurting them. Yet he was a defiant and rebellious personality who couldn't accept his place. After many escapes he was conscripted by Wardens instead of being punished for his insolence.
A bitter rebel with warden's training. That is interesting. He even managed to escape them, who knew it was possible?
Lately he was called the Kirkwall Terrorist by the press. This picture had been snapped secretly without Anders knowing of course. It was made by a spy of theirs. A pity the man didn't survive long enough; he had been quite useful. All he knew about Anders so far was that he used to run a free clinic in Dark Town (surely a cover for his illegal mutant business), wasn't captured and brought to Gallows only because he was under Hawke's protection and was not so secretly sneaking mutants out of Gallows.
The other folder contained details of the Nevarran mutant named Falcor Redin. The photography was more recent here, capturing the one eyed man about a month ago. Seeker's eyes lingered on the photography as if studying it for some time. Everything about this individual was long and lithe; dark red hair braided down his back, scarred, strong arms and legs.
As the well-collected information stated, Falcor was one of the few who had managed to outlive Downing's Entertainment's Studios, an illegal, underground fight club which held deadly gladiator battles for public entertainment. People vs. exotic animals, animals vs. mutants, mutants vs. mutants, everything of everything. The place was found eventually and erased about seven years ago along with all involved. Or so they'd thought. Marcus Downing managed to escape to their great dismay, and he wasn't the only one. No one was sure about the extent of Falcor's involvement in the business but he was often seen with Marcus Downing in public. He couldn't be a small fish.
Even more, Falcor was a mutant who wasn't shy about using his abilities when he had to. The Seeker kept reading, lips curling up at the vague description of his mutant powers: Inhuman senses of sight, smell and stamina and an ability to transform into a lynx.
He chuckled softly and shook his head as if amused.
The Seeker stopped his glasses from sliding down his nose and closed the folders again, carefully replacing them into the case. His private driver, a tall, grim soldier opened the car's door for him to march out towards the door.
A perfectly shaven man in a black suit opened the massive door at the second ring and invited him in. The Seeker soundlessly followed the butler into the small but well-furnished room where he was asked to wait.
His hosts, Sebastian Vael and Marian Hawke, didn't let him wait for long.
Still silent like a ghost butler brought them some tea served in the finest porcelain cups, something that meant to impress him perhaps but didn't have that effect. He wasn't a gaping youth, hadn't been for years.
Marian Hawke was a cheeky and loud person from received reports. Both of her deceased father and sister were mutants, the latter unregistered before her twenties and perished in Kirkwall Chantry's explosion incident. Marian had managed to climb her way up from the sewers, ending as a very successful journalist who had a great influence in Kirkwall and hooked up with the most desirable bachelor of the town. Marrying a Vael would bring her closer to the social peak of the wealthy and powerful.
Her fiancé, Sebastian Vael, was the last surviving member of the Starkhaven's governor family. He was a tall man with a soft voice who wore a mask of perfect manners from the moment he walked into the room. The young man lost his mother-figure, the head of the Kirkwall Chantry institute, Elthina, that infamous day. He still wore white despite how much time had passed since then, color of grieving in Starkhaven.
The Seeker shook their hands politely, taking in their timing, well calculated not to appear in a rush or disrespectful. Both of them had attempted a homely appearance, although it was too tidily messed up to appear authentic.
"Seeker Arthur Reeley at your service. I am glad we could meet at least. I thank you for your cooperation and promise not to take too much of your time."
Sebastian Vael greeted him calmly; no emotion but serenity could be seen in his seemingly calm lyrium blue eyes.
"Oh, that's not a problem, Seeker Reeley. We do have some time here and there in between the wedding preparations." Marian took a small sip from her mug, nodding at the Seeker with a polite smile.
They exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, nice and civil before cutting right to business.
"We'll be glad to assist you with whatever we can, Seeker Reeley," Sebastian confirmed to the other; all lightness goes from his voice. "And I definitely wish for real justice to happen. The terrorists are still roaming the land, and the souls of the victims can't find peace knowing that the evil deeds of the vile mutants went unpunished."
"Of course, Mister Vael. I am here to see to it. Such a crime won't go unnoticed."
Marian placed her hand above Sebastian's and gave it a gentle supporting squeeze. He could see for a moment a flicker of a real emotion between the two; care and deep sadness. Then the mask was up again.
He spent the next few hours interrogating them, recreating the events that led to the madness, taking many detailed notes about the escaped criminals, their habitats, the way they thought, acted and fought. Anything that might help him to get on their trail.
It was known that the two weren't acting alone; there was a mysterious figure behind them, a mastermind of the grand act known as Kirkwall Incident. The man called himself Justice and openly preached against the law. Not many knew his face and lived to tell. Hawke and Vael were one of the lucky (or not so) few who could recognize Justice.
He placed a few pictures of matching the general description men on the table before the two and waited, watching their reaction carefully.
Hawke wasn't an actress at all. With a deep frown, leaning forward, she checked all of the photographs quickly, her perfectly manicured finger stopping near one of them. "It's him. Yes, I recognize him. That's your man."
Marian looked up at him. Her eyes were full of anger and barely concealed pain. Because of Justice and Anders she had lost her last family member, Bethany Hawke. Her sister was a mutant but she was nothing like Anders or Falcor, she was a gentle soul who wouldn't hurt a fly. Marian still clung to the thought that if she had stopped them in time her dearest sister would be still alive.
He looked at the chosen picture of a severe looking man and suppressed a surprised groan. Looking up from the photograph was Erik Lehnsherr, a man known as Justice or in wider circles as Magneto.
Things just became more interesting.