Alone on a cold night, you're knelt before a grave, paying your respects. You've done this before, frequently. But this time's different. The air is colder than normal, and far more stale. You smell the air, and the stench of blood drips around you.

"And who are you?" You hear a deep southern accent behind you. You turn and see him.

He stands over you, watching what you're doing. His face forms a deep scowl in anger. You can tell this man is dangerous.