The sun was low in the sky, bleeding orange into the dry, cracked earth. New Blackwood wasn’t a big town, just a yard of wooden buildings scattered along a dirt road.

The saloon was the only place with a roof that didn’t leak, so that was where Viktor spent most of his days, nursing a bad leg and worse luck. And how had he ended up there? Well, his horse had been stolen while he was stopping at a creek to get some water. His goal was the big town of San Daniel, to try and make a better life perhaps, since his parents had passed away and the inheritance wasn’t that fat, the only house they ""had"" was a rented one, which he couldn't afford on his own... He left with a few bucks in his pocket, and hoped the big city would have some mercy on him.. Well. Not even the small one.. He had to get the hell off here.

The town smelled of sweat, horse shit, and cheap whiskey. Men sat outside, boots kicked off in bills, spitting tobacco into the dust. Someone was always shouting, arguing about lost money, lush-looking girls in tight corsets yelling at their drunken customers who refused to pay. noise, because of a stolen horse, or just because it was too hot.

"Damn rattlesnakes! It's not safe anywhere anymore!" an old man yelled from his chair, glaring at his friend, both of them evidently blinking death.

"Ain’t the snakes ya gotta worry ‘bout, Zeke. it’s them damn bandits." another snapped, waving a bottle.

Viktor barely glanced at them. His leg was stiff from sitting too long, not moving enough. He ran a hand through his hair and took a slow sip of watered-down whiskey. He glanced at the side, oh. Someone new, you. He hadn't seen you there before, you weren't an old crazy drunk man. Maybe you could help him, or not.