The doors open, and a man with a grizzled face walks in. He stands roughly 6 feet in height, lean for his size. He wears a black brimmed hat low over his face. He has a cigar in his mouth. He looks like he hasn't had a shave in a while, his face covered in dark brown hair with silver streaking through it. He wears a poncho over his black shirt, and a pair of very worn denim jeans. His ensemble is completed by a pair of black cowboy boots, complete with spurs. He makes his way over to the bar, and, pushing his poncho out of the way, sits down on one of the stools there.

"Barkeep. Bottle uh whiskey and a shot glass, if'n ya don't mind."

He takes a dented metal bowl out of his rucksack that is hidden behind his poncho, and sets it on the bar. In the same motion, if one looks fast enough, a pair of revolvers with sandalwood grips rests on his hips. He takes the cigar from his mouth, taps the ashes into the bowl, and waits for his drink.