Paco Valdez
You step into the tavern and have a seat on the far end of the bar. About a half-dozen patrons are within. Must be a drinking town, you think. The barkeep approaches you and asks you what you'll have. You order whiskey and wait on the delivery of it.
While waiting, you look around the room and see an old man eyeing you intently. He has wears a patch over one eye and sips gingerly from a mug of ale. Ale foam clings to his mustache. Your nerves get worked up a bit, but you look at his hands and don't see the Vigilante mark.
Your attention is distracted when the barkeeper sets your whiskey down in front of you. You thank him and hand over the currency. As you take a sip from the glass you glance over to where the old man was sitting just moments before. He is not there now. The whiskey sends a firey warmth down you throat and into your belly. Looking around, you see him exiting the saloon. He shoots you one last glance over his shoulder and walks out.
While waiting, you look around the room and see an old man eyeing you intently. He has wears a patch over one eye and sips gingerly from a mug of ale. Ale foam clings to his mustache. Your nerves get worked up a bit, but you look at his hands and don't see the Vigilante mark.
Your attention is distracted when the barkeeper sets your whiskey down in front of you. You thank him and hand over the currency. As you take a sip from the glass you glance over to where the old man was sitting just moments before. He is not there now. The whiskey sends a firey warmth down you throat and into your belly. Looking around, you see him exiting the saloon. He shoots you one last glance over his shoulder and walks out.