They'd prefer answers.

Kane cocks his pistol, and levels it at the man. "Okay, asshole," he snarls, as Jane follows his lead. "You have until the count of ten to..."

"Lower your guns," says the man softly but forcefully. The hunters do so, as if following an irresistible compulsion. Kane feels as if he almost heard the man say something else at the same time as he gave the order, something in a weird language, but he can't be sure. The man shakes his head. "How rude. And this is such nice espresso too." He lifts his cup to his lips and takes another swallow.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's great," mutters Kane. "We're not having any. Who the fuck are you?"

The man sets down his cup. "Oh, I am many things, huntsman. A pilgrim, a watcher, a seeker of knowledge, a source of wisdom..."

"That sounds like a fancy way of saying 'a fucking wizard'," says Kane.

"That is one thing that I am, huntsman," says the man with a smile. "Or rather, one thing that I have been called by those trying to comprehend my being."

Kane narrows his eyes. "I don't like wizards. I don't like anyone who fucks around with powers they can't control."

"Well then you will like me," says the man, picking up his cup again. "I only deal in that which I can control, huntsman." He takes another sip of his espresso.

Kane crosses his arms. "That's what they all say," he says. "They're almost always wrong." He shoots the man a nasty grin. "And besides, I have so many other reasons not to like you."

"A pity," says the man, with a shrug.

Kane glances at Jane, who seems about to say something. He motions for her to stay quiet. "What is your name?" he snaps.

The man looks at the hunters with an expression of gentile and forgiving incredulity. "You demand my name? A thing of power? Here and now, when you can not compel it, and I've no reason to give it to you?" He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Such foolish hunters they send out now. Foolish, vain, and reckless. Children, playing with weapons they do not understand, facing foes they do not comprehend." He regards Kane levelly. "Be thankful I am in a forgiving mood, for were I not, you would be blasted and blighted in my wrath, your soul sent to the pit for your impudence."

"I'm shaking in my fucking boots," snarls Kane. "So what are we supposed to call you if you won't give us your name?"

The man grins. "Ahhh, that I can do. I have been called many things, huntsman, some grand, some grisly." He sets down his cup and points at Kane. "You may call me 'Lotan Rahab', for your convenience."

Kane raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Oh, yes," says Rahab. "Deadly so."