[b]Sors Kelden - Hunter[/b]

The two man stationed to guard the entrance to the castle, stood together on either side of the large portcullis. They had let the hunter in moments prior, and had gone back to standing idly waiting for someone else to come approach the gate. The two of them felt the tension in the air, hidden underneath the common routine of everyday life and scheduled fear was building in the populace, the slowly building current of fear that tomorrow could be the day that Adin fell and with it the last hope of Capernaum. But of course the guards and everyone else tried to think of something else anything else for thinking about one's impending doom was never a fun topic. A strong gust of wind came up from the valley below, up the cliff side and rattling the old flag the worn out seal of Capernaum tattered after years of abuse attached to the same flagstaff it had been attached to for seventy years. A crow cawed as it circled high above, most likely roosting in the old guard house, now home to the crows and smaller rodents, living in the broken rotten wood and discard hay. Of course the guards did not care about the crow, all the cared about was the bitter cold gust that the winds brought with them. It was crisp and bitter, these warning signs of winter appearing more and more frequently, as the day by day became progressively colder. The two guards clutched to their fur lined cloaks and starred on ahead at the road sloping downwards, waiting bitterly for their rounds to be over. 

It was right around then that the two of them heard the clunk of the sound of somebody coming up the road to the castle slowly. A man cloaked in a patchwork cloak of grey, with a large staff of oak was slowly shambling upwards towards the castle. The two guards looked at one another quizzically, they experienced the occasional minstrel, doomsayer, pauper and leper in their day. All of them wanting to see the king, it was odd what kind of types just simply believed that they could have a royal audience. As the winter came, they would seem more of them, looking for shelter and food. This caused another unnecessary irritation to the guards, who would have to try and explain to those with broken minds and a sometimes less than perfect grasp on reality would sometimes be akin to trying to holding a conversation with a stone wall with social anxiety problems. So the two guards prepped for the worst as they watched the man shamble his way up the hill. His cloak seemed to engulf his entire form, given his form an ethereal resemblance to it, the patchwork greys blinding in with the northern sky. Judging from his gait he was no longer a youth, the spring in his step had long ago vanished, but the purpose with which he worked was not exemplified by many men of old age. As he drew closer the two guards drew at attention as they raised their large polearms as the shined with a glistening glimmer as the sun hit the metal. The man seemed unphased as he continued to approach them, the guards looked at each other and nodded slowly as one of them called out to the man in grey.

“Halt Stranger and identify yourself!” The lead guard called his voice ringing with authority, the two guards looking quite imposing dressed in full ceremonial armor, the King’s the colors shining brightly. The King’s Guard were the best soldiers that Capernaum’s military had to offer, taken from the officers academy at a young age and personnel trained by the Royal Battlemaster himself. They were the King, his family and any dignitary or ambassador that came to Capernaum escort and official protection. Sometimes referred to as the Old Guard, or the Stubborn Bastards (not to their face of course). The guard called out again to the figure who seemed to not have heard them the first time and it was then that he stopped where he was and did something odd. He let out a long burst of laughter: the laughter was not of insanity, nor of malice but something different it had an airy and warm quality to it, it told the story of warm summer evenings, it danced with the farmers daughter under the moonlight and had the scent of dark mead on a cold winters evening, it was many things but at the same instance none of them ephemeral and fading. It was then that the man slowly raised his hand, the two guards raised their spears in a defense position waiting for the man to pull a weapon to do something. But his hand grasped the hood and pulled it down revealing a smiling face showing signs of age, his eyes seeming to smile themselves, a unkempt mane of grey hair. 

The two guards look at one another in surprise, who they thought to be some crazy pauper lost in his mind was none other than Sors Kelden. Oh the stories one would hear of “The Grey Executioner”, The hero of Capernaum, the fabled slayer of abominations, The great warrior from the North, and one of the original hunters of the Shade. Wherever he seemed to go adventures seemed to follow close behind like an eagerly awaiting hound. If one heard half the stories thy told of Sors, one would believe he had saved the kingdom twice over and was an immortal hero of colossal stature. But of course most of these tales were over exaggerations of the truth and he was just a man, and in most cases a very lucky one at that. Sors looked at the two guards and smiled as he spoke.

“It would seem that I forgot my invitation lads. Do you think that you could help a poor old man out of the harsh elements? Sors asked the two guards.

“Mr. Kelden! Sir… if we knew you were coming we would of gotten you an escort!” The guard exclaimed.

“Oh relax lads, my best years might be behind me, but I’ll be damned if I can’t walk up a mountain by myself. Though I will say that I do remember the ascent taking much less time when I was a younger man. ” Sors explained as he approached them, the two of them parted as he approached them. The large gate rose into the air as he stepped through into the castle courtyard. He wandered lackadaisically to the large doors of the castle were a servant was waiting for him. He nodded at the boy as he lead him inside to the large foyer, that served as the barrier between the cold outside world and cream colored place within . In front of him greeting him was a large portrait of the great king in his youth. He was always a giant of a man but he used to be more muscle than his current composer. The stress, that the Shade’s terror had been wrecking across the countryside he but the toll on Capernaum’s leader. Sors remembered just twenties years ago, the man would wrestle bears without arms or armor, just for the fun of it and it you be unwise to place a beat on the bear. But now it is heard that he never leaves his chambers or the castle itself, locking himself indoors. Sors shook his head sadly as the servant waited patiently for Sors to turn away from the portrait and follow him to the great hall. Of course Sors had been through the castle enough times to know how to get around, but their was something in the codes of formality, that it just feel wrong not to follow.

When they arrived at the great hall, Sors looked around at the small gathering of people. The letter Zakariah had sent him, told him rather simply to come to the Castle. That the king required aid against the Shade, and that they were gathering a group of hunters to combat the beast. Sors would have very much liked to stay in his cabin, away from all this chaos and finery. Zakariah knew that he had retired and that he was no longer the one to go racing across the countryside chasing monsters and apparitions in the mist. But something inside the old hunter pushed him to go, if they sent a group of youngins against the shade, they were sending the lamb off to slaughter. No matter how much combat experience they had, they did not know the horrors that former shell of a man could deal. So he set off towards the castle, for no other reason than to prevent the pointless waste of human life that could occur. 

He entered the hall, his eyes casually observing the other hunters gathering around the tables to eat. He was more less twice the age of most of the men and women their, most of them no older than boys and girls just escaping out into the world, to go on a grand adventure. He moved by taking a goblet from the table and moving towards the roaring fireplace at one of end of the hall. He stood next to it warming his body feeling the tension relax from his again limbs as his eyes met Zakariah’s, he give the king’s aide a small nod and then just stood there observing, watching. They seemed to mixed group of adventures, he even saw the eleven women as he walked in. 

“Jermolt must of called for aid from all four corners, the stubborn old man finally realized that his own small army and a smattering of hunters was not enough to beat back that damn creature.” Sors mumbled to himself as he took a long drag from the goblet.