Jonathan - Hunter... ish
Things were different around here, see?
He could blink, cover his face with a mask, and he was the most terrifying creature that had ever walked the lands, the terror of terrors, the thing that things that went bump in the night feared, and told stories about. The Deathwalker. They had given him that name out of spite, telling him that he should be dead, and was one of the walking dead, saved by the Church. He didn't agree, but they had saved his life, so had he simply nodded and agreed. It wasn't like he had any power to do anything else. And when he was out on the open, with his mask up and his face exposed, he had little power. But once he was allowed to attack, like letting an attack dog off of his leash, things got interesting, see?
Darkness had a way of drawing that person out in him. He couldn't be around people at night, see? He didn't like the night lights, and he needed to stay away. Creatures of the darkness did not love him, but they treated him with more respect than the church dogs. He danced lightly over the dark places. He didn't need to cover his face there, see? Darkness was it's own mask. It was where he was at the tippy-top of his game, with everybody wanting to play.
But it wasn't night now, and it was dark neither. He had to understand how people thought he should act like, how people thought and felt, trying to understand them. It was tiring, but necessary. People hated what they couldn't understand, and while he could live with their hate, as he would have enjoyed seeing how their hatred would have played out in his darkness, the church decided that they couldn't have people hating their emissary. They told him to cover his face until it was disrespectful to do so, and then cover it with his hood. He was fine with that. If people didn't fear him, they thought that they could tell him what to do, how to do it, and what was reasonable, see? And that wasn't acceptable.
See?
Horses didn't like him. But one did. It was an old warhorse, used to the darkness that was humankind, and liked his talking to himself, thinking that him talking and mumbling to himself was talking to the horse, and his ears would twist back to hear what he was saying, as if he understood the mutterings of the mind of the lad. He was an acquired taste, but Jonathan liked him nonetheless. The horse expected nothing of him except for a carrot or apple every so often, and that was delightfully simple compared to humans. He was a human. How odd that he got along better with four legs than two.
Riding into town was a satisfying occasion. People looked upon the mask that covered his face, looking like a silver skull underneath his long cloak, moving underneath the sun without being touched by it, watching as people moved out of his way, looking at him with that healthy look of fear that kept them from trying to engage him in conversation, see? His horse trotted over to the center of the town, where there was a citadel. He could see it now, but there were guards in front of him. He dismounted, tugging at the reins and pulling him to the gate, where the guards barred his entrance. They too had a look of fear, gazing at his mask, confused. He lifted it up, showing his pale features and attempting a smile, like Father Grimbold at taught him. From the faces of the guards, it was still pleasantly gruesome.
He reached into his pocket, watching the guards stiffen and reach for weapons and magical wards. He let them continue with this before pulling out a long slim silver chain in his gloved hand, a gold and silver cross raising it before their terrified eyes.
"I am here to hunt Darkness, like others that have come, I hear. Step aside, and find a stable for Maximus that has much hay and apples, lest I hunt you instead."
Fear. They reeked of it. He was tempted to hunt them down, but he couldn't let Father Grimbold down, see? Like a father to him, the old friar was.
