Dewey Sharpeye, Scout Sharpshooter My name is Dewey. They call me Sharpeye. My father, a hunter and tracker was he. Him who taught me the bow. But I not much took to the wilds. I yearned for travel, so I did. Soldiering taught me the way of the blade. Showed me the dark callow soul of men. But them who shout orders are not my kin, and war is not my forte. So again did I wander. Some thought me a brigand. Once a lynching party tried to hang me once. Wrong place at the wrong time for me. Left a bad scar across my neck, and my voice forever a surly growl. So I wander, my skill as archer for trade. From a distance I strike, and silent I move. The night and shadows are more my place than any home. All that I carry is all that I own.
