"What he says is true," said the mojo woman. With a dreamy look to her eye she sets the kestrel onto the porthole sill of the Albert Hansell. The bird shrieks and is gone to wing towards the Maid of Ohio.
"For centuries the Red Herons have sought to destroy what is right and good. It goes back even further than you can imagine, from the time the first of the clans rode over the hills into Rome and sent stories back of the carnage they witnessed. These men and women have bent the natural to suit their purpose, and have tarnished the pure to further their own gain. There have been but few that have devoted their lives to trying to stop them."
The woman pauses as the bird once again lights on the sill. She sets her hand for it to perch on, and the bird turns to the gathered and shows in it's beak a medallion of a guilded heron.
"This," she says, "is why I am here."