((Okay, so last time, I didn't read everything as thoroughly as I thought. My apologies to one and all for my...rather unorthodox and somewhat rude entrance into the Sanctuary the previous time. I shall attempt to practice a bit more decorum this time around.))

He pauses in front of the gates, hand on the hilt of his sword, sapphire blue eyes scanning the structure before him.

The Scathachian Sanctuary. A stronghold, it was said in RhyDin, of justice. He smirks slightly to himself. Justice, he thinks, is often dependent on the seeker's point of view. Of course, he is not seeking justice for himself - that will only be granted upon his death, and that is something he does not see happening anytime soon. After all, countless others had tried, and none had succeeded yet, had they?

He's only been in RhyDin a short while, but long enough to have picked up a bit of the local info. It is interesting, he thinks, that so many would be willing to simply give information away without asking for anything in return. Usually, for all the background he had gotten on this town, he would have had to pay a handsome sum indeed. Not that he can't, but that isn't the point, is it?

He can sense the magic of this place, more heavily than he did even on the way into this town. Protected, perhaps? He walks up to the front gate and stops, reaching out with a hand. It stops in midair, and there is a sizzling sound like steak over a hot fire, and a slight whiff of smoke before he pulls his hand back. He can see the burns on it where the wards against those of his kind reacted to his prescence.

Demon wards. It figures.

There is a flickering of liquid violet light along his hand, leaving it unmarked once more. There are times - like now - that he hates being a demon. Granted, the vast majority of demons are only out to cause pain and suffering in whatever way they can, but there is an exception to every rule, even that one. After all, he's never met another demon with a soul.

But then, he considers himself somewhat lucky in that regard. At least he can enter the holy places without feeling like he's being burnt alive., if they're not warded against demons. Like this place.

He reaches down and unfastens the sword, sheath and all, from his hip, and, holding it by the sheath, reaches out and taps the wards with the hilt, knocking against them softly. The shock from the impact transmits itself along the length of the sword - fortunately not demonic itself - and for just a moment, he can feel the emotionally charged atmosphere within. Tension, not so much from fear as from anticipation of an attack.

Ordinarily he would revert to his animal form and simply walk in, but such tension tells him that such an intrusion wouldn't be welcome no matter what form he was in. He's not here to look for a fight, just a place to...belong, for lack of a better word. He's been fighting off hunters for far too long to be interested in another battle, and from all accounts, the Scathatchians are not only not the right people to mess with, but warriors every bit as capable as himself. He likes a good match as much as anyone, but fighting against twenty such warriors might prove to be more than even he can handle.

Instead, he taps the wards once again with the hilt of his sword, harder this time, and sits, cross-legged, before the gate, laying his sword before him and placing his hands in his lap to wait.

He had closed his eyes for a moment, figuring it to be a long wait...but he had only had them closed for a few moments before the voice intruded on his thoughts.

"Scathach's Sanctuary is open to those who wish her aid. Can I help you?"

Female. A killer, and a warrior, without a doubt. Here is one who has seen nearly as much blood shed as he, though not nearly as old, he'd bet. And suspicious but open.

You can tell much about a person from their voice.

He opens his eyes and fixes his gaze on her, his brilliant sapphire eyes flickering for a moment with amethyst light, so quickly it might have been an illusion. Leaving his sword on the ground, he stands, pushing himself up from the ground with limber ease and standing, then bowing slightly to her.

"I don't come seeking help, but rather seeking to help, as much as one such as I may be able. Only..."

He reaches out and places his hand against the wards, and instantly his hand sizzles as the ward repulses him, burning his hand once again. He pulls his hand away, and there is again the flickering of violet light along his skin, erasing the burns instantly.

"...it seems that demons aren't welcome within these grounds."

He meets her gaze evenly, folding his hands in front of him and smiling slightly. "I've been given to understand that you have had some trouble here of late, and since arriving in RhyDin, I've found myself rather...adrift. Unless, of course, volunteers aren't welcome."

He is silent for a moment, looking her over. Even though she is blocked by the wards, he doesn't need his empathic abilities to hear the way she bristled at the word demon. He can't say he blames her, though. Demons have rightly earned their reputations. Even he was, at one point, among the ranks of those who had caused great suffering. Until he had run across someone who had changed all that.

He nods slightly, smiling. "I understand completely, m'lady. The majority of demons are either out to cause suffering or are otherwise only concerned with themselves. I do not expect you to think any better of me." The smile fades as he thinks of his own, long past. "Nor would you be the first person I have had to prove myself to."

Casually - slowly - he stretches, an almost animal movement of muscles. "As for my interest...I long ago made a promise that I would help those in need, and until recently I have had little opportunity to do so, being concerned with keeping myself alive long enough to be able to do so. I've only been in RhyDin a short time, but long enough to undestand you have problems, though I confess to not being aware of what those problems are. I simply wish to continue helping those who need it, in whatever small way I might be able."

He crouches, picking up his sword - still sheathed - and reattaches it to his hip as he stands again. "But if you do not wish my assistance, I will leave at your request."

He listens to all of this carefully, his eyes never leaving hers, intently focused. He's never worked with the law before - in fact, being what he is, he is usually working against it - but then, in most of the places he's been, the law is rarely concerned with justice. What she tells him only confirms what he's already heard, and it seems that this enemy is one that the Scathachians are not dealing with so well. He can understand that - these enemies are sneaky, cunning, striking from the dark like assassins. From what he's seen of the Scathachians (if this one can be taken as a good measure of the rest, that is) they prefer to be more...direct. He's seen this sort of thing before - indeed, in the past, he's been a part of it.

Which would almost make him perfect for this sort of thing.

"Well, m'lady...it would seem that I have a knack for turning up at the right times. Or the wrong ones, as the case may be." He smiles slightly. "What you have told me already, I have heard passing rumours of - nothing specific, just that this seems to be a problem for you and yours. As I said before, I wish to help where I may do the most good...and in case you may be wondering, I seek no reward. Merely point me in the right direction, and tell me what you would like for me to do."

He smiles and bows slightly. He had figured for less, or an unwelcome reception once stating - plainly - that he was a demon. Perhaps the Scathachians are a bit more open-minded than others have made them out to be.

Or perhaps this one is. She has the look and feel of one who has done a lot of evil, once, perhaps - such a thing can make people see things very differently. He looks at her intently for a moment, sapphire eyes flickering with amethyst light for a moment, like light reflected from cat's eyes, before turning away.

"Very well, m'lady. If you should have need of me for some other errand..." He holds out a fist, clenches it for a moment, and there is the flickering of violet light that leaks out between his fingers for a moment. He opens his hand and tosses an amethyst point to her, aiming it to land at her feet. "Just call for Lupinius, and I'll be along shortly." He turns away, and the flickering of amethyst-colored light seems to surround him, then consume him, flashing brilliantly before fading to reveal a wolf, silver-grey and nearly twice as large as the norm, wearing only a thick, heavy, beaten silver collar with a jet-black amulet hanging from it. The wolf looks back at her, once, bowing its head once more with an oddly humanlike grin on its face before walking away.