"The reek of blood. That intolerable scent. It sickens me..." Gascoigne was murmuring to himself, drooling, and snarling like some rabid dog. His claws were bared in crimson blood with old ax in hand, as he stalked the cemetery aimlessly. Gascoigne was looking for the next poor soul to wonder the resting place of the dead, so he could sink his fangs into their still warm flesh. The man perked up the moment he heard footsteps, and he quickly turned around to greet the unfortunate soul still alive in this accursed place. "Beasts all over the shop... You'll be one of them, sooner or later..."