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.