In the Diablo lore, it is Valla who is partnered with a more experienced demon hunter named Delios who succumbs to demonic corruption and slaughters the residents of Bramwell (not everyone, 15 people in a bar/inn, but she would have kept going had she not been swiftly "dealt with.") and Holbrook, while being indirectly responsible for the deaths that occurred in Havenwood. This happens just before she leaves to investigate the fallen star in Tristram. So if Valla is the canon name for the female demon hunter, it makes sense to me that if you choose to play the male, the story would be reversed making the canon name for the male demon hunter Delios. I had already named mine Jack so I kept my chosen name for this particular story.
IMDB says the male Demon Hunter's name is Cort, I don't know how accurate this is, but I do like that name. Too late now though.
Also: The tattoo mentioned is based on the existing Demon Hunter crest.
Westron wind, when will thou blow?
The small rain down can rain.
Christ, if my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.
-Western Wind, c. 1530
The fog hung in the branches of the trees, unwilling to relinquish its hold on the landscape. The forest was dim and the gray sky washed the air in a blue haze, it had been raining off and on for days and didn't look like it wanted to let up anytime soon, much to Lyndon's ongoing displeasure. He was traveling with Jack in the countryside southeast of Tristram after Diablo had been defeated in the Silver City, a feat so monumental that Lyndon still had dreams about it and occasionally doubted it had even occurred at all.
That was two months ago.
Now they were traveling across Khanduras, making their way to Westmarch to right some wrongs. While they journeyed, they revisited their old haunts because Jack wanted to make sure that all was well in the cities they had saved. Arriving back in Caldeum after being in cold Mt. Arreat for so long was absolutely marvelous. The weather really was lovely and Lyndon enjoyed every single second, even when they went back out into the desert. The flow of gold hadn't stopped either! Caldeum still had some demon hordes skulking about that the Iron Wolves wanted disposed of and they were willing to pay handsomely to see it done.
It was a great system really, Lyndon could still turn a tremendous profit from the bounties, fund his little indulgences, all the while continuing to pay off his debt to free his brother. Jack could keep killing his hated prey and keep himself busy. It also enabled them to spread the knowledge of Adria's betrayal and put eyes and ears on the alert for any sign of her.
Eirena had asked them if she could stay for a while and study in the library of Caldeum. She said that there was much she wanted to learn about the advances of magic over the last thousand years or so, and would meet them when they needed her. Kormac had told them privately that Eirena might need his protection and insisted on staying with her.
How honorable of him, Lyndon had thought. The Templar was getting much bolder, he might even try to hold her hand next!
Imagine Lyndon's surprise when Eirena actually agreed to let that wet blanket accompany her, as she was quite capable of taking care of herself, but Lyndon had seen stranger things happen. Jack had already sent a messenger (a raven that sometimes followed them, Lyndon wasn't sure if it was some kind of pet or not but Jack fed it sometimes and it allowed him to touch it, so it must be) to tell them to meet him in Westmarch in three weeks time. Jack thought it best to sort out whatever it was that was going on with Kormac's silly order before they moved on to dive headfirst into the marvelous little shit show Lyndon was expecting in Kingsport.
Really, Lyndon didn't mind putting it off a little, he was anxious enough about it as it was.
Tyrael was off doing his own secret business, Lyndon could only guess what he was up to and didn't much dwell on it. Something about the Soulstone Jack had told him. Lyndon didn't much care. He hoped they'd never see that stupid, black, demon rock again really. Shen had run off somewhere, promising that he'd find them again at some point. Lyndon was actually rather sad to see him go. He genuinely liked the eccentric jeweler. They often swapped stories about women, one of his favorite topics! What he liked even more was that the old geezer actually paid him for the various gems he brought back.
Haedrig had gone back to Tristram for a while. He wanted to be somewhere familiar and see how the town was getting on. He also had to tell everyone who was left in that forsaken place the sad story of what had become of Leah.
Jack had said they would come get him on the way to Westmarch if he so wished and Haedrig had agreed. Lyndon was glad of this, he didn't want to lose his most reliable drinking companion. Lyndon thought it very considerate of the Demon Hunter to provide the blacksmith with some decent work. Akarat knew that fixing their armor and equipment was a full time job with all the trouble they got themselves into.
Jack had genuinely shocked him by making a promise to help get his brother out of the Kingsport's prison and pay off the Merchant's Guild. Even though they had been through much together, Lyndon still had trouble accepting that the Demon Hunter was willing to give so much to him and want absolutely nothing in return. Lyndon hadn't expected anything from Jack, what had possessed the hunter to offer such a thing? Lyndon just couldn't understand. The scoundrel's troubles seemed woefully insignificant when compared to the salvation of their entire world, but Jack had insisted upon helping him. The man was really too kind for his own good, though he hid it well behind a stern exterior.
The thief wasn't very good at accepting such grand acts of generosity after growing up in a world where he had to bite and claw for everything he had, there was always a catch or a string attached and he almost wanted to demand what Jack thought he was doing and what he wanted from him. The sullen Demon Hunter wasn't very good at explaining his reasons. Or expressing his emotions.
Really, he just wasn't very good at communication in general.
The man didn't keep very many friends either, in fact, Lyndon considered himself one of the few. Whether Jack liked this or not was still a mystery. The hunter was very unused to the ins and outs that came with friendship and kept quiet most of the time, but Lyndon liked that just fine, he wouldn't be able to stand it if someone were to talk more than he did!
Lyndon expected that the Thieves Guild would be out in force to kill them when they finally arrived in Kingsport, but what were some ragged, thick-skulled vagabonds in comparison to the denizens of the Burning Hells? Just about nothing really. And Lyndon had gotten better. Stronger. Much more skilled than he used to be. He wasn't worried at all.
Well... maybe just a little. He'd made a lot of people angry. He supposed they'd cross that bridge when they came to it (and then burn said bridge immediately after with lots and lots of fire please and thank you).
It had never been just the two of them before, at least not for so long. There was always at least someone else Lyndon could speak to when Jack didn't feel like talking (which was most of the time). Even Kormac could be amusing if Lyndon got him going.
Jack often complained that he talked too much, but Lyndon just didn't want to feel like he was alone. He would do just about anything to stave off the feelings of guilt, loneliness and uselessness that threatened to suffocate him when he had too much quiet time to think. It was better when he kept his mind (or even better, his body) occupied as often as possible, and if that meant spitting out whatever popped into his head, so be it.
Even if the he was doing most of the talking, they still did rather well together if Lyndon said so himself. Their shared affinity for ranged weapons really helped to grease the wheels of conversation. Lyndon had spent many a dark night out in the wilderness, shoulder to shoulder with the other man, watching in quiet amazement when Jack showed him the rituals and deadly materials he used to enchant his arrows with demonic magic. A skill perfected by the Demon Hunters in the Dreadlands. Jack refused to let Lyndon use these arrows however, giving him elemental and simple replicating ones instead.
"But why not?" Lyndon had brazenly argued. "They're so much better than mine and if you made them then it would probably be alright because-"
"No. It takes a lot of training to resist the demon's corruption, and for most people it cannot be learned at all. I would not have you hurt by my lack of responsibility." Jack replied firmly.
If it had been anyone else, Lyndon would have argued until he was blue in the face, but when it was Jack, he found it easier to accept that the Demon Hunter knew better than he did. If only for this particular subject. He was also a bit surprised when Jack more or less admitted he cared about him.
Lyndon was disappointed, but Jack tried to make up for it by teaching him how to make grenades, bola shots and some traps that contained small amounts of shadow energy.
Nothing demonic though. The hunter would not be swayed on that.
Even with more dark business looming ahead of them, Lyndon felt good to be back in the forests, farmlands and moors he was so accustomed to. Many of the recent days had consisted of trekking through misty green fields, over rock walls and farmland, dark forests and just miles and miles of cold, foggy, wet country. Lyndon didn't like the wet and cold part so much, but after spending so long in the burning desert, frozen north, and even Hell itself, it was definitely good to be home.
They finally emerged from the forest that bordered the eastern shore of the Gulf of Westmarch in the late evening after spending five long, wet days traveling through it. It had started raining long before that and Lyndon fantasized about a bed to sleep in and a woman to warm it. The hunter tended to avoid towns for unknown reasons, preferring to camp on the outskirts, much to Lyndon's endless discomfort and frustration. In his humble opinion, they had spent far too many weeks sleeping on cold, muddy ground struggling to burn damp wood to keep the raw chill at bay, often within viewing distance of cozy looking lodgings. It had been raining for so long that their cloaks did little to keep them dry anymore. Lyndon was cold and wet most of the time and complained often, typically with no response, but that wasn't unusual. It was hard to get words out of the hunter on even the best of days, even through teasing.
Jack must have been cold, wet and tired as well but he never said a word to indicate that he was anything other than "Fine," but there was a weariness about the Demon Hunter lately that was worrisome. Lyndon could not be sure if the other man slept at all, even though he was traveling with him. He was always still awake when Lyndon dropped off and was up before him every morning. He seemed to look alright, at least, he didn't look any worse as the days went on. He'd always had dark circles under his eyes but there wasn't the slow deterioration he'd observed while they'd been at Bastion's keep. Still, he seemed tired, drawn somehow when he shouldn't have been, it wasn't like wandering around in the wilderness was difficult, at least it wasn't when compared to what they'd been doing the past couple of months.
A small group of deer pranced into the forest upon seeing them enter the field, leaping high over a crumbling rock wall that bordered the treeline. The most animals they had seen in one place for a long time. Lyndon's stomach growled, they were running low on food again. When they would make camp in the evenings, Jack would sometimes disappear into the woods for a while, leaving Lyndon to his own devices. He would return silently, with pheasants or rabbits, or most recently a young stag. Lyndon frequently volunteered to help (sometimes he got a little nervous being alone in the dangerous wilderness, not that he would ever admit it) but Jack stated that his incessant chatter would probably scare all the animals away.
"I know how to be quiet you berk." Lyndon had muttered irritably the night Jack had taken the stag.
"Good, then you'll have more time to practice while I'm gone." Jack called over his shoulder before disappearing into the woods. A living shadow that Lyndon could not even hear as soon as he had gone out of sight. Privately, Lyndon thought that Jack made him stay behind to get some time away from him, which hurt his feelings a little bit, but he had come to accept that Jack needed his time alone. Lyndon spent this time tending the fire and staring wide eyed into the darkness, ever alert for the shuffling of a rotting undead or the pitter patter of little demon feet. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to women when he was alone, it would make things rather awkward if the hunter were to return too quickly.
Sometimes he was tempted to go through the Demon Hunter's things, maybe take a peek at his journal, but knowing him, Jack would probably notice that it had been moved and shout at him. Something he preferred to avoid. The last time he had angered the man he didn't speak to him for nearly a day, and it had been terribly boring.
These small hunting excursions supplied them with enough food to keep them going, but the local game had not been very plentiful since the demons had infiltrated the countryside, even though their presence was waning, the animals were slow to return. All their wealth and much of their possessions had been sent ahead to Westmarch. They had taken some money and supplies but it was too cumbersome to travel with chests loaded with gold and jewels so they didn't have a healthy supply of gold to aid in filling their stomachs.
Lyndon still kept a healthy amount on his person, as was his habit, but he had also sent much of what he earned to his brother's family, as he usually did. Surely they would have enough to live comfortably in a nice house in Kingsport by now? But he had yet to hear anything from them. It was to be expected, he supposed. Rea hated him and wanted nothing to do with him because of the trouble he had gotten Edlin into. He couldn't blame her, he hated himself for it too. Sometimes he thought it was better that they didn't talk, but that didn't make her hatred of him hurt any less. How old would their children be by now? Would they have called him Uncle Lyndon?
Well, it didn't matter. No point in dwelling on it.
Right, so the animals had just recently started to grow in number again. They had turned most of the deer into jerky and had made new arrow points from the bones. Bone tips were more readily able to accept magic than wrought metal or stone, Jack had so patiently explained to him. Something about formerly being alive, thus making them good for "beginning enchanters" or whatnot. They kept the skull, antlers and skin to sell or exchange for supplies in the next town they came to (hopefully food). The taste of jerky was no longer as appealing as it had once been and Lyndon's stomach growled for hot stew, fresh bread and most importantly, good wine.
As they crested the hill at the end of the field, they could see the warm lights of a small village about a mile from where they stood. Lyndon was beyond relieved, "Ah! Oh thank Akarat! Our troubles are over!" Just then, the light rain they had been in all week grew heavier, the skies opened and it began to downpour. "Are you bloody serious?! Come on, this just isn't fair!" Lyndon wailed, and broke into a fast trot. He was so eager to get to the town and shack up in the local Inn that he almost forgot the brooding man standing behind him.
"Lyndon, where are you going?" Jack asked him with what sounded like genuine curiosity. A dark mood seemed to have swiftly enveloped his tall companion for no apparent reason, unless the rain had upset Jack more than it had the scoundrel, which he really doubted.
"Where am I- ugh, to that town obviously, what are you still standing around for?!" Lyndon shouted irritably. He could barely see through the heavy rainfall and could feel the icy water soaking into his hair uncomfortably.
"We're not staying here, we'll stop at the next town." Jack replied icily, turning away.
What in the burning Hells?
"Excuse me Jacky. Did I hear you correctly? Because I do believe you just said that, even though there is a town with an Inn that has a roof and food and warm beds and fires that actually produce heat, right down there, you want to camp outside again in this driving rain with no food and wet clothing, and possibly catch our deaths in this charming weather?" Lyndon stated sarcastically.
"Yes." Jack answered, deadpanned.
"Ah, yes, that's what I thought you said." Lyndon said with false cheer. "Are you completely DAFT?!" He roared, struggling to hear himself over the pouring rain. He could felt water dripping into his boots from his soaked pants, he just wanted to get inside and sit by a roaring fire for the rest of the evening.
"We are not spending another night out here, its been weeks." Lyndon complained loudly, he couldn't believe how ridiculous the hunter was being, it was almost as if he enjoyed being cold and miserable. "I'm hungry. We're almost out of food and we haven't been completely dry for days. My feet are cold, I'm sure I'll get sick. Which will be your fault by the way. No. No! I absolutely won't stand for it, this is the first town we've seen in some time and we're bloody well going to stop at it!" He snapped, wet clothes no doubt making him irritable.
"...We will not be well received." Jack argued lamely after a pause, not meeting his eyes.
"Are you bloody serious? You're afraid of a few country farmers and poor merchants looking at us funny? Like that even matters, you've single-handedly killed the Lord of Terror! What's a few dirty looks in comparison to that!? I get dirty looks all the time! You don't see me complaining!" Lyndon shot back.
"Its not that... its just-" Jack began, appearing to be suddenly upset, even a bit... was that fear he saw? Lyndon had never seen him act this way before and was more than a little confused. He paused in his rant, waiting for Jack to continue.
"Come on, out with it! What?" Lyndon snapped when the hunter did not immediately speak. He was getting impatient to get out of this damned rain.
There was a long pause. Lyndon waited, but Jack didn't continue. He stared at him instead, then back at the town.
"We're not spending another night outside, especially in this!" Lyndon grit out, waving a hand in exasperation at the heavens "We're going to that town and getting a room at whatever wretched structure they have that can be called an Inn, right now."
Jack scoffed, but reluctantly conceded. "Fine then, if you want to so badly, lead the way." He sarcastically waved his arm to give Lyndon the right of way.
"Are you sure Jacky?" Lyndon asked nastily. "Are you absolutely sure you don't just love it out here? I wouldn't want to rain on your "nice" time."
The Demon Hunter narrowed his eyes at him, then stormed past him down the hill toward the town. Lyndon couldn't remember the last time he had been more furious with the Demon Hunter, he was acting beyond ridiculous. What was his bloody problem anyway?
They marched angrily down the hill, not speaking to each other, cloaks wrapped tightly against the driving rain.
True to the Demon Hunter's prediction, they did not receive a very warm welcome.
The name of the town, Lyndon learned from the hanging wooden sign, was Holbrook, and after a brief but intense argument with the ornery gatekeeper who was very reluctant to let them in after nightfall, requiring the eventual persuasion of a bit of gold, they managed to be allowed inside the gates. They were met with simple wood and stone houses running along a single, wide cobblestoned street with muddy channels running along its edges. There was little difference in the architecture found in the small villages of Khanduras then from the less wealthy houses in the Kingdom of Westmarch. At least as far as Lyndon noticed whenever he'd bothered to pay attention to such things. If you've seen one little village you've seen them all.
They passed a puddle filled with happily splashing ducks while an unhappy man struggled to herd them into a pen, and weaved around several goats and sheep that were being followed by another unhappy, wet farmer. Others were putting their merchant stands away for the evening, likely getting ready to head to the town's inn for a nightcap. Lyndon quickened his pace, eager to get out of the weather. The few residents they saw outside stared at them with obvious distrust while they went about their evening business. Nothing particularly worrisome, people tended to be distrustful of travelers these days due to the recent troubles.
But then things started to become more strange. Some people recoiled from them as if Lyndon and Jack were hideously malformed, this being the exact opposite of what Lyndon looked like at least. Others shouted at them and one simply ran away upon sighting them.
Lyndon always anticipated a little nervousness in a new place with the Demon Hunter around, but this was a little more unusual than Lyndon initially expected. Lyndon didn't think that he looked particularly scary (more like roguishly handsome) and he was very confused why everyone was suddenly so frightened and hostile toward them.
"Go back to the Dreadlands, monster!" One woman hissed from the relative safety of her doorway.
Lyndon scowled at her, "Well that's not a very friendly thing to-"
Hang on.
Dreadlands? Isn't that where- Lyndon realized then that all the fear and hatred was not directed at him, but rather at his stoic companion, who had so far remained completely silent. In fact, Jack was currently doing his best to hide himself, he hunched deep into his cloak, obscuring all visible traces of his unique armor and crossbows.
What exactly was going on here? No one had ever reacted to Jack in this way before, though the man's eyes did glow rather strangely in low light like small dancing flames (much like they were doing now) but it was hardly noticeable. Well, mostly. They were looking at him as if he were no better than a demon. But they didn't even know that he had saved them. All of them! He had saved New Tristram, which wasn't more than a few days away, surely they would have heard of him and his insufferably noble deeds? And Jack was being so quiet! He 'd never been afraid speak up before. Why would he just silently take such abuse from people he didn't even know?
"What's all this then?" Lyndon whispered to Jack, forgetting all about their little spat. The hunter said nothing in reply and continued to stare at the ground listlessly.
Well! If the man was going to just ignore him then Lyndon wasn't even going to bother.
"Remember what happened at Havenwood!" One man muttered to another as they passed. What? Did two strangers harmlessly visit that town too? Ridiculous.
"Get out of here you ugly demon!" Another woman hissed fearfully.
"Piss off you nasty wench!" Lyndon tossed back and she squeaked and hurried inside. Rude bint.
Now that one was a little hurtful. Jack wasn't as handsome as Lyndon was, but he was certainly not ugly.
After enduring many dirty looks and dirty words, the local lodgings were soon in sight. Lyndon had been wet and cold for so long that he had begun to shiver, he no longer cared what the townsfolk said, no longer cared to fight verbally with any of them. They were too scared approach them anyway and the vast majority simply ignored them, which he was more than fine with. He just wanted to get inside somewhere (or someone if luck was in his favor). He was glad to see the tavern ahead of them. A sign swung in the rain above the door, 'The Three Arrows Inn' decorated with three bolts pointing at each other's ends to form a triangle. How fitting for them.
This was proving to be less pleasant than Lyndon had hoped, but he refused to leave after all the work he went through in convincing Jack to come here. He expected that things would improve once they'd purchased a nice room and changed into dry clothes. The people inside didn't know about them yet (he hoped) and with Jack effectively hiding himself, they might just be able to slip by unnoticed and get a comfortable evening out of this after all.
When they entered the building they were again met with the same old distrustful glances, but Lyndon was ready this time and turned on the charm. He could certainly walk, yes, but it was gold that talked. Lyndon put on his his most attractive smile and plunked a bag of gold down on the bar. The fat, bearded owner stared at him with the most unpleasant scowl, but Lyndon's quick eye did not miss how he glanced at the sparkling coins.
"My good man, if you would be so kind, your best room for the night with a fireplace and fur blankets for myself and my friend here." He said smoothly, grinning and pleasant as you please. Gold worked every time, but a smile never hurt either.
Throughout Lyndon's silver-tongued handling of the bartering process with their less than amiable host, Jack did not speak, he did not look 'round, he just stared at the floor. He let Lyndon take care of everything and attempted to blend in to the shadows. Unusual. He didn't often trust the scoundrel to do such things for him. He'd never seen the man just hide himself like this and fall to the background. It was almost as if he were ashamed of something, or far more confusing, afraid.
He was still a little angry at Jack for being so unreasonably stubborn, but he couldn't help but start to worry.
"Thank you, thank you! You are most kind." Lyndon paid the man and cheerfully hopped up the stairs, eager to inspect their sleeping quarters and finally change into something dry.
Jack shadowed him silently. Lyndon was fine with that.
He threw open the door and was immediately crestfallen. There was only one bed. He did not want to sleep next to that tall, lanky, grumbling killjoy. He looked sidelong at Jack, disappointed, and still Jack said nothing! Lyndon expected at least a scowl. The man only had three facial expressions after all: irritated, bland, and murderous rage. Didn't he care about this at all? Jack could barely sleep near him in their bedrolls, preferring to stay as far away as he could politely manage, surely this would be far too close for comfort.
What in the bleeding Hells was wrong with him?
Lyndon decided that one bed was at least better than no bed at all (really, he had no qualms about sharing so long as the other person didn't steal the blankets) and gratefully dropped his bags on the floor. The bed was very large and covered with blankets and furs, as he had asked. Well, that was good too. He cast another glance at the hunter, his long crane-like legs would probably take up most of the space. Perhaps Jack would be prudish enough to want to sleep on the floor? One could dream. The bed looked very comfortable, and Lyndon was very tired and almost wanted to go to sleep right then and there, but he was also very hungry. He leaned up his crossbow and closed the door, locking it securely. Jack moved to the other side of the room and started to remove his wet clothes, Lyndon quickly followed suit.
They were both soaked to the bone. His leather boots were going to take forever to dry, same with his coat. Lyndon hung everything he removed near the fire on any hook or chair edge he could find, hoping it would be dry enough to wear by tomorrow. When he tipped his boots upside down, a bit of water poured out onto the floor, causing the scoundrel to make a face. Lyndon glanced at Jack then to see if he was having a similar experience. He had his back to him, and was removing armor pieces one at a time, setting them aside with great care. Lyndon felt a small amount of satisfaction seeing that the untouchable hunter was shivering as well. That proved the man could at least feel something. He wasn't infallible, Nephalem or not. Just like the rest of them.
Lyndon smiled to himself, pleased that all of his extra clothes had remained perfectly dry in his bag.
Jack removed his shirt with stiff movements, hands trembling, unaware of (or deliberately ignoring) Lyndon's curious gaze. The scoundrel was surprised to see a large, ornate tattoo on the man's back between his shoulder blades. It was a very detailed work of art that was applied with great skill, Lyndon had seen many tattoos adorning thieves in the guild, but rarely saw ones so intricate. The image was of a creepy, hooded, demon skull with large, angular horns. The creature's hood bore a familiar iron cross design that Lyndon had seen adorning Jack's armor numerous times. Above the skull was the top half of a singular, ornate crossbow and below were decorative, overlapping plates of armor, also bearing the iron cross. The entire piece was richly colored. Lyndon was immediately very curious as to why Jack had it, what it meant and how it was done so skillfully. He thought it looked like a crest of some kind, but he had never seen anything like it before. He very much wanted to ask about it, but at that moment, Jack glanced back and caught him staring.
"What?" The man snapped, the first thing he'd said since they arrived. He realized Jack was naked except for his cloak that he carefully held over his body to cover himself. He was looking a bit embarrassed at being scrutinized, and did Lyndon detect the hint of a blush on his cheeks, how amusing, who would have thought the big bad hunter could be so bashful. HA! Lyndon had no such physical reservations. He carefully filed this knowledge away for later teasing.
"Nothing, Sir Sourpuss." Lyndon snapped, irritated by the hunter's abysmal attitude. "Better hold that cloak securely, someone might see you!" He teased.
Jack scowled and said nothing, but turned away from him, cloak clutched tightly against himself, and put more distance between them to continue changing. Bloody child. Lyndon noticed a large, dark bruise on the hunter's hip, he didn't see it before because he had been so interested in the tattoo. The bruise must have hurt, and didn't appear to be very old he probably got it a few days ago when they had come across that farm that had a demon infestation. The farmer was grateful for their assistance and had rewarded them with food. Lyndon didn't realize that Jack had been injured then, he hadn't said anything.
That was always the damned problem wasn't it? He never bloody said anything!
Lyndon finished changing into his dry clothes and smoothed his wet hair back into place, primping his appearance a bit in preparation for the hunt of females. He turned to Jack, who was now dressed in a simple black, sleeveless tunic and dark, form-fitting leather pants, and was attempting to towel dry his raven black hair with a spare shirt.
He supposed he might as well give communication one last try. "Shall I get us some food or is that too much of a luxury for you?" Lyndon asked dryly.
Jack glared at him, as he'd expected.
"Do whatever you like." The hunter finished hanging his clothes by the fire to dry and sat down on the bed to tinker with his crossbows, pointedly avoiding Lyndon's gaze.
Fine then, you miserable twat.
Lyndon sighed theatrically and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.