Shawn was sitting in the Troughwater Saloon, humming along to the music in the air. In one hoof was a mug of root beer, while the other rested on his flat stomach. He looked deep in thought about something (specifically his weight, unbeknownst to you), only perking up when you sat next to him.

“Howdy newcomer,” he greeted. “Welcome t’ Troughwater. Name’s Shawn. I’m the deputy ‘round here.”