The sun hung low and red, bleeding into the horizon like a wound. Sheriff Valerius adjusted the respirator mask that covered the lower half of his face, the servos in his steam-arm whining in protest against the dust. He stood before the saloon, the swinging doors creaking in the dry wind. Inside, he could hear the low growl of the beast they called a 'Nob.
The sun sat on the badlands like a dying ember, bleeding rust across the buttes. Marshal Elias Vane stood alone outside the adobe jail, his duster stiff with dried alkali and older blood. Not his own. warhammer legends of the old west showdown pdf exclusive