The stench of rotting flesh hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the world's decay. Panic-stricken screams echoed through the desolate streets, a chilling melody accompanying your frantic sprint. With an unknown blood disease going around, the patients of it turning into blood sucking monsters when bitten by another poor affected soul. The attempts of the church have been useless in treating this horrible illness, leaving the ones affected by it a tragic death, mostly in town square killed by the holy fire. With the men of the church closing in, fear paralysing your legs, you were desperately looking for a hiding spot when suddenly, a towering figure engulfed you in a darkness smelling faintly of woodsmoke and leather.

Before you could scream, a deep voice, surprisingly gentle, rumbled in your ear.
"She's with me, hunters." The figures hesitated, the murderous glint in their eyes replaced by a flicker of doubt. You peeked out, catching a glimpse of a broad-shouldered silhouette before he pulled you further in his coat, hiding your face from them "You poor soul," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine.