Exton

This is a little unnerving. The black hood does little to inspire confidence in the wearer, and then no one seems to know much about him. I've heard him described as a sorcerer... Nick calls him "the old man", which means than he's older than Nick himself, at nearly 150 years old… and the shifters call him "The Right Hand of Death". Is it any wonder I'm nervous?

On the other hand, he's never-failingly courteous, his courage is beyond dispute, and his knowledge of esoteric matters seems to be encyclopedic.

And so far as I know, he's never killed and eaten an elf.

Yet.

He stands at the gate, looking as casual as I suspect he's capable of looking. A rapier hangs at his hip, but his hand isn't near the hilt. I drop to one knee as I approach.

"Sieur Mortuis," I begin. "I crave the boon of hospitality, for myself and my companion, K'thyri."

The eyes behind the hood show a hint of sardonic amusement. "Companion, is it? Still… granted, sir, for as long as it may be required."