[b]Jonathan - Hunter[/b]

"I'm not a good man, old man," He said with a smirk," And no matter how fast you think you are, I am faster. I'm faster than you were when you were young, old man, and far more deadly. But the use of words to describe combat are cheap. I wouldn't carry you if your brittle bones broke. I would put you out of your misery like an old horse with a broken leg, without a second's hesitation.As for the Shade's abominations, I know you speak truth on that count, granddaddy. I'm one of them," His grin was there again, and he licked his teeth. The old man had never encountered one like him. Like the troop of men that had come to find him in his commune with his mother, coming out of that forest with more than half of their troop dead, the rest severely wounded. But the man moved away, senile old thing that he was. Probably not understanding what he meant. Nobody would believe that he was the Shade's Spawn once, brought back to the world of mortals but for the unwanted kindness of an old and powerful monk. His destiny stolen in an effort to save his fading life.

The thought put him in a darker mood than usual, more violent and deadlier than usual as he placed his cup on the table, his eyes darkening. He wasn't hungry anymore. Not for food anyways. Grimbold had warned him of it. He was always an arrogant and irritating pompous ass to everyone for a reason. If he didn't get out the constant anger that moved through him, the darkness that had been forever chained inside him, it would break loose. He enjoyed it, like a touch of that old darkness that he had reveled in as a youth, but Grimbold told him that the Good Book demanded that his dark ways of the past were in the past. His dark gifts were to be used for the fighting of evil now, or not at all. He wasn't supposed to be this close to the edge now, but that old man, in his arrogant speaking of the killing of his brothers and sisters, even if the lesser ones, drew on that darkness and brought it dangerously to the edge. 

He lowered his mask again, his every movement slow and steady, ignoring the fact that many other were moving into the hall. They were moving around him, some not even noting how close they were to him and bumping his shoulder. His hand flickered out and grabbed one of them by the arm, his terrifying eyes gripping the man's soul in a cold grip, his fingers a mere press from sending three blessed blades into his chest, wreaking life-threatening damage inside.

But he needed to control himself. Grimbold wouldn't allow a massacre inside a palace, especially if there were other hunters there. They combated the darkness, like he did, in their own, futile ways, and he needed to respect that. Shaking, he released the man, who stumbled back and ran away from him. He needed to calm down. Shuddering softly, he brought some form of control over himself. It wouldn't last long, but Grimbold would want him to be a part of the ceremonies, even if he didn't eat. He moved along with the crowd into the feasting hall, slinking into a shadow-filled corner, avoiding the firelight.