Organizations. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, perhaps. And perhaps there is an Angel in this universe, the one of the vampiric variety. She remembers fighting along his lot well, without a care of what he or she or they represented, only caring that she be allowed her violence and her destruction.

"Small and fleeting things," replies Illyria with vague ennui. "Their foundations will crumble. What is mortal will fade, and weighs nothing to me."

Unless they can promise her allowance of her wrath, there is little an organization of human construct can offer her.