<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/LJX8V3E.jpg)<div align="center"><strong><em>Gregor Donovan</em></strong></div></div>There were, of course, moments where he wondered how he had ended up 'here'. It was the 'here' that constantly changed, but the answer regardless was the same. This time 'here' involved a village and rumors of darkness, acts of heresay, of the profane. This time had lead Gregor to 'this' point, the subtle application of the power that God had imbibed him with to be this perfect warrior, this weapon of light to smite the shadows that would attempt to encroach and consume that which was holy and good. God had seen to his creation, the Good Fathers had whispered as bed time story to the child who grew into the man, who now cloaked himself, following a young maiden through the wilds and then into something far more wild then perhaps she had even considered in her quiet slumbers.<br/><br/>The answer to any question he had ever asked was the same. It was etched into the bones of his ribs, carved into the lines of his lean muscular make up, it was was found within the amber colored orbs of his eyes when caught upon reflection, his acceptance of it was born to flesh in the scars that littered his earthly shell. It was as constant as the heart that beat within his chest or his intake of breath, each which the Good Father's had taught him was a prayer in another form. The purpose of the questions may well have changed since the foundling, the orphan had become a man, raised in the cloth, raised to fight, trained to hunt, but the answer it remained the same:<br/><br/><div align="center"><strong>Because God has willed it. </strong></div><br/>Just as He now gave Gregor the strength to follow into the deeper wilds, the subtle touch of glamour to cloak and disguise his form along with the use of shadows to seep about him. He knew not whose realm he traversed in, but God did. He knew not the story of the girl, whose form and actions he had observed for days now or why she would chose to unbind her hair as those wolves remained. Within the confines of his chest, his heart beat steadily, the warriors training to keep it moderated and to it steady as Gregor removed emotions from the equation, focusing instead upon what he could count as facts. The wolves..familiars? Eyes? Instruments of the damned to collect more for their retinue? The wilds changed, the flavor of magic could be felt, power older perhaps archaic lingered upon vines and leaves, it whispered in the breeze.<br/><br/>It was easier to pull back from the focus and allow his leather armored form to sulk into shadows. To allow there to become a safer distance between himself and those animals that moved near to her person. Regard would have to be given for what he had seen when inspecting her home, when observing her person, flavored with the interactions that he had oversaw from her blood.<br/><br/>Gods will did not change the apprehension that grew within the core of the man, that something was far from right. But it did steel his nerve as he began once more to follow the maiden once the wolves had been given their leave and raced off to rejoin their pack in the opposite direction of his manipulated space. And so he would push on in the way that only those who feel they are righteously protected can or would, even into the maw of what may be their undoing.