The moon rose quickly that night. It was bigger than normal, a milky-white disc feigning to be blind to the sins of those in its borrowed light. Where it sat in the sky, just above the peaks of the snow-capped Ixard Mountains, it stared down particularly hard on one lone man. He yanked down the bandana from his mouth while producing a half-burned cigar from the pocket of his well-worn duster. An indulgence before he painted the town red.
(Below is a small bit of character development for an old character in a new iteration of his life. It should be noted that the character in question, Jakoh, is meant to be a nightmare himself, a “sacred shadow,” to remind men of their own mortality and to be an arbiter of life and death. Jakoh is also known for speaking in a familiar yet foreign tongue, Esperanto.)
Nightmares always plagued his warped mind. When he closed his eyes to sleep, the darkness was filled with horrors beyond reckoning–indescribable, yet always familiar. If one could only see into his mind during those “peaceful” hours of his day, when he wouldn’t undoubtedly eat the flesh of any who dared to tread too close, perhaps an understanding as to his behavior could be found. Though, people such as that were few and far between… and he made it well-known that beings who possessed such capabilities were on his watchlist.