[center][h1][color=bc8dbf]The Dead[/color][/h1][/center]

The hunter slouched into the village. After him, following the few drops of blood left in the hunter now dripping from his neck onto the ground, soon came the man from the cage, cadaverous and purple necked, where something had strangled him. Silent, they dragged their feet slowly towards the inn, unhindered and unnoticed by the sleeping folk. A stray dog followed them, eyeless and gored, no steam rising from his snout. The hunter held his sword in his hand, so cold, frost clinging to the steel; and the caged lunatic dragged a chain that left a snake-like trail on the snow layer behind him. When they entered, another was waiting for them, standing still, a girl seemingly alive, but with deep blue lips to remind of her death. The fires in the room waned, the windows fogging up, and a smell of the morning dew in the air. The hunter left then and went up the stairs, one squeaking step at a time, until he came to a door. Two of them he -- or his master through him -- sensed inside, one of them immortal. Steadily, the hunter withdrew his hand from the knob, and turned around, choosing the room of someone mortal to be the first he visits. He went for the one closest to the stairs, where what felt like a man slept. He grabbed the knob and turned, setting off a loud clamour of a dagger falling onto the floor in the middle of the night. The hunter's flaming silver eyes widened, as the one who controlled him realised his victims were not as dumb as he'd hoped.

Down stairs, the other dead ones turned their heads to the stairs, summoned to aid the hunter, while from the outside unforeseen gusts of wind pummeled the walls of the inn stronger than ever before.