The organisation has long known that value of information and the people who find it. As such, when training all potentials are required to learn of one art, whether it be music, painting or storytelling it is a requirement.
Cain chose music, learning the basics of several wind instruments but focusing on the flute. For his purposes it is an excellent choice; he can play within small pubs and bars and yet still hear the whispers simply by reducing his volume on, say, a particularly morose piece.
He uses his flute to scavenge for information on innocence, gathering the information through casual queries on any unnatural occurrences or discrepancies within the town or city he is passing through.
If an individual ignores or attempts to throw him off he can almost guarantee that when they return to their tablemate, or when the bar is clear of any non-locals - they will talk.
And he will hear.
Within a month of learning of the mystery substance, giving allowance for a week long job in between, he has somewhere to start.
Exorcists and Finders of the Black Order.
Their names are spoken in whispered awe and soon enough he cannot deny his curiosity. From what he can gather, in comparison to the organisation the exorcists are the assassins and the finders are speakers.
In the organisation speakers are generally trained sparingly - they know the basics obviously - but they are more tools of politics and appearance. Better to approach a client with someone who speaks their language than with someone who barely speaks at all.
Which is useful to him, now all he has to do is catch himself a finder.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
It's laughably easy to lure one in.
It seems that the finders of the Black Order are obligated to respond to even the smallest hint of a possible innocence appearance. The only effort Cain has to put into the charade is planting a few suggestions in the mind of superstitious locals before disposing of his two targets, who happen to reside in the very same town, in a far more grandiose fashion than usual.
Two finders appeared three days later, dressed in loose beige with a pack slung haphazardly over each of their shoulders.
To begin with the two mingle with the locals, questioning and sharing conspiratorial looks. That night one disappears into the town's single hotel and the other turns and begins to hike up the forest trail - supposedly wishing for a closer look.
Perfect.
The most troublesome part of this entire debacle is probably having to haul the man's dead weight to an abandoned warehouse, to wait for his awakening.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The finder is notably panicked when he wakes up alone and secured to a metal pole.
From his perch in the rafters above Cain finds it hard to contain his mirth as the man immediately looses all pretense of being in control of the situation and instead works himself into a frenzy, hyperventilating even as his eyes dart from one side to another desperately searching. For what? Cain can't claim to know.
But it is funny.
With a knowing smirk Cain lets himself fall, landing in in a crouch directly in front of the man who screams and attempts to scramble back, a ridiculous move if there ever was one.
Cain smiles - it's all teeth.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
The conclusion to the capture of the finder is somewhat dull, Cain muses as he saunters casually away from a burning building, the flames caressing his back with the touch of an old lover.
The finder gave him everything he asked for, and more, so desperate was he for escape. Cain wasn't sure why the man had panicked so much but it was helpful in the end so he was not complaining. It was still somewhat disappointing though, he had many techniques relating to torture that would have been fun to try out.
Honestly he had expected more of a man that was connected in any way to the redhead who had see him. Maybe he will have more luck with an exorcist...
He turns, once, merely a tilt of his head in all honesty, to observe the building behind him. ever critical of his own work.
But the warehouse simply carries on burning merrily, even as the town's people slowly converge like Hyenas on a fallen gazelle.
He barely blinks as he is shouldered aside by a running man who is clothed in loose beige with a pack slung over his shoulder and shouting desperately as if trying to quell the flames. Useless.
For now he has all the information he needs.
In a completely biased phrasing of course.
But still. It is information.
Now what should he do with it?
Information is valuable after all.