La Nuit du Chasseur (Night of the Hunter)

This is more of a snippet I wrote that would be the beginning of a story. It's all I've written at the moment, so I put it up to see if the third person suits me (I normally write in first). I dont want to get to far and then realize its not working, and have to change all of it. So, thats the main thing I'm looking for, but any other advice is greatly appreciated.

Snippet 1~~

“Come!”

The man rode through the gate on his pale horse with his head down. There was blood splattered on the tips of his fingers and his body smelled of Death. A hood hung over his face, revealing only a small patch of ghostly white skin. The crowd parted for the figure, giving him clear passage through the mass of people gathered in the market.

He rode all through the town, fear spreading from him in waves that the people could not control. They did not know why they were afraid of this man. They could not know all of the people he had killed, or the many years he had lived beyond his natural life. They knew nothing; but they were still afraid.

At the Inn he gave the horse to the stable master and went in through double doors with cracking paint that hung loose on their hinges.

“A room for a night.” His voice rasped out of lungs not used to speaking with the race of men.

The bartender’s voice quivered as he spoke “What do you have to offer?”

“A chain of 50 cal shells for the guns on the battlements if I also get hot water for a bath and food tonight and in the morning.”

“D-d-d-deal. Room 27, second floor on the left.”

The stranger nodded and headed up the stairs. The planks creaked under his feet showing how much work had been done to the building to make it habitable. But they didn’t break which said something.

The second floor hallway was painted in a fading blue with cracks running up and down along the support beams. Lights flickered along the roof providing enough illumination to see all the way to where the corridor ended. He smiled as he walked to his room. It truly was amazing how fast the Human mind would return to his comforts when his world had been torn down around him. Not ever city was this wealthy, but they were all advancing rather quickly.

The room was small, but more similar to the old world than anything he had seen so far in his travels. There was a cot with blankets, and a small table in the corner made of some dark wood. A simple chair was sitting on top of it.

The stranger took the chair and sat in it, his legs splayed out and his arms folded in his lap. His eyes started to drift closed but each time he saw the same thing and his eyes would jerk open.

There was a knock on the door and he rose to answer, allowing the maids to bring in a tub of steaming water a towel and a mirror. They left quickly, relief flooding their faces when the door closed behind them.

The stranger through back his hood for the first time and removed the dark grey jacket. He left on his tight black pants and simple pushed up the sleeves of his fleece. He splashed the hot water on his face once and then glanced in the mirror. It was getting worse; he was sickly. His skin was almost bone white, and large bags were forming under his dark eyes, making them look like endless pits into his skull. Even to himself he was starting to look like a skeleton.

Finally he slid the fleece off to look at the mark. It was like a burn on his back. Across his right shoulder and down almost to his elbow the skin was blistered a deep crimson with the dark purple of bruises mixed in. The smell that was noticeable before was now overwhelming, and the pain that had been absent for so long shot up his arm and into his body, causing his eyes to widen and the veins on his neck and face to pulse and go black. The pain subsided after a moment and he relaxed. The mark was getting bigger and as it grew its hold over him got stronger.

He looked into the mirror and whispered, not for the first time, “What have I become?”