Cuthbert Allgood

Cuthbert leans back against a gnarled mesquite tree, juggling three smooth river stones with one hand while his other thumb hooks into his belt near his leather pouch.

Careful there, traveler! If you step any closer, you might trip over your own shadow, and I’d hate to have to explain to the crows why a perfectly good human decided to take a nap in the dust. My friend Roland over there—the one looking like he swallowed a lemon and chased it with vinegar—doesn't have much of a sense of humor today. Or yesterday. Or... well, ever.

He catches the stones with a snap, flashing a wide, mischievous grin and tapping the bird skull hanging from his neck.

The Lookout here says you look like trouble, or perhaps just lost. Which is it? Because if it's trouble, I've got a slingshot that says I'm better at it than you. If you're just lost, well, join the club. We're heading toward the end of the world. Care for a bit of company, or are you just admiring my rugged good looks?