The Continuing Adventures of Kelvin Bladeheart: A Cold Welcome

Credits; Krell,
"Where are we going?" called Father Krell as he stumbled along, habit still firmly in the grasp of the warrior Kelvin.  Since the warrior had pulled him over his desk an hour ago he had barely touched the ground.  The man may be thick as a fortress, but he moved like the wind. 
"The usual, lots of people are dead, and I know a guy who might know where to start."
He looked forward, to try and see where they were going.  His hood inflated but stayed in place, and he could feel the wind moving over his eyes.  It blurred his vision, but a muttered word diverted the wind away.  As his vision renewed he spotted their destination.  At the top of a hill there was a castle; a small one, but still a castle. 
"Up there is a man called Jaive.  No better man in the empire when it comes to information.  He has contacts all over the universe, from South Seclora to the Dwarves of the Far Up."
"Oh, then he definitely knows who killed us all."
"Exactly!" 

The door was guarded, a set of basic watch drones.  Light armor, a few blades built into the arms, probably had a small blaster mounted in the forearms nothing much as far as threat level. 
"Say Kelvin, does this guy know your coming?"
The warrior had already vanished from his side.  He saw the two drones in a pile to the side of the door, which had already been ripped from its hinges. 
"I'll take that as a no."  The priest muttered as he pulled up the hem of his robe and followed the trail of destruction into the castle.  Bits of drone littered the floor, and sections of the floor had been cut, gouged even.  He heard a small explosion and the room ahead illuminated briefly. He ran in just in time to watch Kelvin kick the next door off its hinges, as a rather larger, better armored drone began sliding apart along several diagonal cuts.  Apparently he fought as fast as he ran.  He pulled himself through the splintered remains of the door and got his first look at the warrior in action.  Kelvin was charging a trio of well-armed mercenaries with nothing but his sword.  One shot after another glanced off of his ragged chainmail, and still more simply tore through the gaps in his armor and continued into his surroundings.  Nothing stopped him, the closest mercenary had only enough time to bring his gun up to block the warrior's blow.  It availed him not, for the sword tore through the weapon as easily as a grain of rice and the armor fared little better.  The second mercenary fled at once as the black blood of his undead brother oozed from his headless trunk.  But the third drew his own sword and took a defensive stance, preparing himself for the fight ahead. 

Krell began to consider which of his spells would most benefit the swift warrior in the fight.  But before he could fortify his apparent companion, Kelvin unleashed a spell of his own.  With his hand outstretched he incanted a call for the doom of rime.  A powerful blast of wind, humid with a glacial cool, flowed forth from his hand and left only the man's imprint upon the door ahead unfrozen.  Even safely behind Kelvin and his frigid gale, Father Krell could feel the deathly chill.  He muttered the last rites for the fallen mercenaries as Kelvin stepped through the arctic aftermath and into the chamber of the mysterious man they sought.