The immortal assassin, whom Michael immediately recognized as a British soldier some hundred or more years earlier in America rose slowly from his chair,<span style="font-style: italic">"Would you like wine or tea? We have only just started dinner."</span><br/><br/>Michael was thrilled at the prospect of consuming a meal with this couple. "Yes indeed. I'm sure it is a delicious fare you serve here, my lord. I shall indulge in wine this evening, s'il vous plaît." Michael took the offered seat, pushed the cloth napkin to the side. "I am very happy you two have found one another. You both offer one another unique and complimentary skill sets. I see the two of you performing wonderful and glorious work together. This is a momentous occasion."<br/><br/>Michael smiled at the two, a warm and genuine smile, not one of those fake smiles someone might use if they are attempting to engage in some unscrupulous confidence game. Michael had no ill intent for them. He simply rejoiced in their union. "Pardonne-moi, mon faux pas!" Michael exlaimed [tr.: Pardon my social error.] "I did not introduce myself. You may call me Michael Bonnet," he spoke with a French accent.<br/><br/>"I have certain abilities or skills that the both of you can benefit from and I intend to aid you in the task for which you have recently discussed." Naturally, the pair would be confused, dismayed by any information Mr. Bonnet would have regarding their recent conversation. Michael accepted the snifter of wine, "merci beau coup, madame."<br/><br/>"Maybe I am getting ahead of myself? Before I introduce myself, it may be more beneficial if I tell you both a little about yourselves." Michael looked at Mademoiselle Devereaux, "the Gaul, a healer, born sometime around the same time as the birth of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ. You hail from the Frankish Gallian region of what is today known as Burgundy in Eastern France. At the time of your birth, it was inhabited by the Celts, a race of peoples who inhabited all of the Iberian Penninsula, northern Italy, portions of what is today western Germany and the British Isles. You are a healer and possess magical powers stronger than even you yourself are aware of. You have not yet learned your full capacity of the arcane arts. You my dear are holding onto a gift from God. Please respect it and God. With that said, my brother Raphael is watching over you. He believes you are currently in danger from not only your cousin, one Darcy Krohs, but also from a man you believe to be<span style="font-style: italic">Herr Oberstleutnant Erlind Köhler</span>," Michael uttered the name with a crisp Prussian accent. "Herr Köhler is not who he appears. You must be aware of the book of Tobbit in the Eastern Orthodox Church or at least the Book of Solomon in the Old Testament. Herr Köhler is actually Asmodeus, one of the<span style="font-style: italic">Fallen</span>Angels who descended into hell with Satan at my hand many millennia ago. Beware that a few of his minions are assisting him in his endeavors. My brother, Raphael tells me you narrowly escaped a contractual agreement with this demon that would have sacrificed your immortal soul into damnation. You are quite fortunate to be seated here with this gentleman for dinner. Speaking of narrow escapes, your cousin held you hostage until my brother assisted your release from captivity."<br/><br/>Michael sipped the wine, "mmm very delicious wine, monsieur." Michael swirled it around in the snifter inspecting the liquid, its color and breathing in its bouquet. "Bordeux, 1929, by the look, smell and taste. Am I right?"<br/><br/>"Monsieur Buchannon, you on the other hand more of a mystery. It took some time for my brother to piece it together. But our paths had crossed. When he mentioned you to me, I knew exactly who you were. You may have been born only a few decades ago, but the word, born is relatively inaccurate. You were a creation of science; a manmade man. The 37th iteration of yourself, I might suggest. When the first Hamish Buchanon was erected, is of little consequences. Part of your existence is attributed to people like Mademoiselle Devereaux, I might add. The memories you have of the native Americans or running with the ancient Celtic Tribes in the Scottish Highlands are connected to your past, but not necessarily memories you have experienced in the past few decades of life. You are immortal only in that you are reborn like the Phoenix, out of the ash of your prior corpse. It is a magical, mystical concept to understand. Your abilities at ranged accuracy and melting in with your environment are true gifts for any warrior. You would, if born in ancient Japan made an excellent Shadow Warrior." Michael allowed the descriptions to sink in while sipping at his wine. "Excellent choice of wine, monsieur. Excellent."<br/><br/>"Recently, you held one SS-Hauptsturmführer Franz Zimmer in a hunting lodge somewhere in the alps. He was a pure-bred Prussian Military genius. Someone who studied Physics at der Technische Universität Berlin. He had a promising career ahead of him and was expected to do wonderful things for the third reich. But you snuffed him out of existence with a crushed powder. You may not believe it, but my brother Raphael had inhabited that corporeal form just after he assisted Mademoiselle Devereaux's escape from Darcy Krohs. My brother intended to use Herr SS-Haupsturmführer to gain information on her plan. But thanks to your elegant competence, his plans were thwarted and Raphael had the opportunity to find another soul to occupy. Since he did not know where the witch had run off to, he chose someone within close proximity to where Mademoiselle Devereaux currently resides." Michael looked at Isolde, "I know you know who I speak of. I was in church with both my brothers, Raphael and Gabriel this morning. Father Raphael Fischer?"<br/><br/>"I assume that explains who I am. Hopefully, you have figured it out by now. In fact, the Mademoiselle just mentioned my name only minutes before my arrival. I believe she sounded something like this."<br/><br/>Michael recalled her quote sounding in his best Isolde Devereaux,<span style="font-style: italic">“Your soul is old. You are called to be a soldier as surely as the</span><span style="font-weight: bold">Angel Michael</span>.<span style="font-style: italic">Your weapon, the weapons of men and his, the flaming sword. Blessed be.”</span><br/><br/>"So, now that we are all acquainted, I can provide an army to deal with the minions that Darcy or possibly those bastards from Hell might put up against us. My brother believes Asmodeus will actually align himself with us in this fight, but I personally do not trust him. You cannot do this alone. I can keep those lions at bay."