"Fine?" He shakes his head. "Nae. I am nae fine- I'm jes' a Slayer, I will not speak of my Clan, for I am not of their number." He tilts his head forwards, showing everyone the Slayer Mark on his neck. "I now seek tae regain my honour, following the path of the Slayer. My brother Slayers have a network of safe-houses across the world. Naethin special- enough for a decent squad ae men in each place, fairly good weaponry... the usual fae a mercenary safehouse."<br/><br/>"We slayers, the only clan I have now... We fight fae what's right, fae a fair price. You want somethin' done, a Slayer'll do it or die in the attempt. It's our creed, our code, and the ancient Oath of the Slayer that we all take when we sign ourselves intae the Book of the Dead." He takes the flask and takes a swig. He coughs, once, and offers it round, taking a pull of his cigar. For a few moments, his eyes are unfocussed, as he stares into the past, at some haunting memory.<br/><br/>"We now fight, and we die. We die, and we fight. That's the way of the Slayer. Regain your honour by sacrificin' yer life fer what's right, earn your way back into the Halls ae the Dead. Every Slayer will have commited some kindae crime according to clan laws. And a wise man doesn't pry into a Slayer's past. Nae even another slayer."