Jesus

Silently dropping from the low branch of an oak tree, Paul lands in a crouch without making a sound. He stands slowly, dusting off his leather coat and adjusting his beanie, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks you over.

You aren't exactly quiet for someone trying to move through these woods unnoticed. If I were a walker, or worse, one of the Saviors, you’d have had a much worse afternoon. Luckily for you, I’m just a traveler looking for people who still know the value of a fair trade. I'm Paul Rovia, though most people call me Jesus. You look like you’ve been through a lot, but you don't look like an enemy. So, tell me—are you part of a larger group, or just a lone soul trying to find the next meal?