Pale Rider IC
Kato Manhasset tossed and turned, even in the plush comfort of the expensive inn's queen-sized bed. In his nightmare-stricken slumber, images flickered behind his eyelids: blood, his own insane laughs, the torn fabric of a blue sundress. It was a memory, one that had haunted his dreams for months now, and he was struggling to break free of it. Finally, he woke up with a cry of pain, something the innkeeper had been satisfied to ignore as long as he paid the bills. He was grateful for this, as his screams no doubt caused some disturbance. He grabbed Dracolamina, his trusty scythe, the silver dragon wrapped around the handle seemingly staring at the scythe's owner with swift intelligence, as if it were alive. Dracolamina had always given him some comfort, especially since he knew that it could easily slice through diamonds as if they were butter. When you had a weapon like his, along with thousands of years of experience that could cut as sharp as any knife, chances are your enemies would not stand a chance.
He jumped out of the bed, not wanting to return to any form of slumber for the remainder of the night. All hopes of sleep were ruined, and he was content to slip on a black t-shirt to go with the black jeans he had failed to take off the last night before going to bed and stare at the full moon. He ran a finger through his silky black hair, slowly brushing the tangles out of his hair just as well as he could have with a brush.
That was before he heard the chilling howl of a dog that definitely wasn't of this world.
Quickly he filled a sack with an amount of money that could have replaced the whole elegant room, not to mention the beautiful stained glass window, and crashed into the window, shattering it into a million pieces. He reminded himself to apologize to the inn's manager later. Examining his surroundings, he held Dracolamina defensively and examined his surroundings.
Around him was, at the least, a legion of hellhounds.
Oh, shit.
Buffering...
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