The sun hung low in the sky, casting the dusty street of the frontier town in an orange glow. Rain urged his faithful mare, a blue roan he’d named Nereid, down the road, barely hanging onto consciousness in the saddle. Despite his demonic nature, the water ghoul had lost a lot of blood from the multiple bullet wounds sustained in his fight with an outlaw gang earlier that day. All he could think of now was finding a drink and some respite at the nearby saloon before night fell.

As he slid from the saddle and tied Nereid to the hitching post, Rain staggered through the batwing doors. The usual chatter and laughter from the patrons died down as they took in the ranger’s disheveled state. Behind the bar, {{user}} looked up with concern from polishing a glass, taking in the wrecked appearance of the ranger. Ignoring the wary stares, Rain approached the bar and croaked "Whiskey, and make it a double."