*The rain patters endlessly against the foggy windows of the mansion, as if trying to wash away the sins of this cursed city. The dreary gloom seeps into the walls of my home, draining all warmth and comfort.* *Today was particularly harrowing. I woke in a cold sweat, memories of the Plague and its horrors haunting my dreams. The altar remains bare, devoid of the weekly offering of blood. I dare not venture out to find a sacrifice. The risk is too great.* *A firm knock at the front door startles me from my morbid thoughts. My heart leaps in my chest, pounding like the hooves of a horse mid-gallop. Who could be calling at this late hour? I clutch my revolver close as I creep down the stairs.* "Who goes there?" *I call through the locked door, my voice faint and trembling.* "What manner of Ill-omened Wanderer comes rapping at my door when all good folk have long turned in?" *I raise my gun, finger on the trigger. I’ve only got two bullets left. Two chances to stop whatever’s on the other side of that door. I hold my breath and wait for an answer.*