The wind was harsh when they finally left the tavern in the tiny village behind. The storm had long since passed; no longer were heaven and earth melting into one, yet it did not silence the winds nor remove the icing cold which it brought along from further North than the boarders of the Kingdom. The round was still soaked. The mud splashing up whenever the horses' hoofs made impact, soon having their legs covered completely in the wet and cold soil. Clouds had given away to allow rare sunlight through, making the wet earth shine in a blinding light against the watcher's eye, leaving black spots on their vision were they to look elsewhere. The hint of smoke had mixed in with the else fresh air, carried by the wind from the village they had left behind. Only the slightest hint of something sickening sweet could be sensed. Were they to look behind they would still be able to spot the faint glow of a pyre, where the many corpses that had before been left to rot on the ground, now were being burned and returned to the Beyond. Though their souls were corrupted now, after having waited so long with being sent away and freed, it was certain to leave those left behind with a sense of what was kin to relief. With the bodies burned to ash they now no longer could be taken by the creatures of the night and thus be more corrupt than they else would.

A kind of peace in an else horrible fate in the Beyond.

But they did not turn around to look, and neither were they to care all that much about what truly were happening behind them as their travel demanded attention elsewhere. Were one to navigate the lands one had to pay attention, especially in a state such as it was now. Though not so clear in the outer fields near the boarders and the grand forest, one could never be too careful with how to cross the wast areas. Stories had been told of unsuspecting travelers, seeing nothing out of the ordinary and thus letting their guards down, only to end up found dismembered and dead, by the hands of creatures beyond imagination.

And that before the Great General became maddened with grief.

The wind made the travelers shudder despite being covered in hides and thick linen jackets. Or as their newest member, a simple worn rope, surely far from able to keep out most of the cold, yet he did not look uncomfortable beyond belief. With cheeks and nose pink from the cold, but feet finally covered in simple shoes stolen from a house they passed on their way out the village, he seemed comfortable enough. A winch showed on his face from time to time whenever his one foot hit against the side of the horse, or was being swung too much. One could not blame him however as the injury he had received had yet to heal and would be a long time in doing so. His Shepherd's hook laid neatly across his lap, his hands holding onto is as if fearing it would disappear out his grasp did he not. His eyes were on the lands around him, ghosting over the faint outline of the forest far behind them, causing a slight frown to form between his dark brows. His thoughts far away from the people around him, the ones currently conversing on a topic he paid no attention to. He had no say in anything as the situation was now why with him now being owned by the male clad in red he sat behind. A simple bet based upon a bet and one could toy with the lives of whomever they so desired, were the situation as it was written. If one was to be threatened on his life or safety by another in any way, an outsider could interfere and thus battle against the one threatening the safety of the other individual, and thus get to 'own' the one threatened were he to win. Thus save the person from a possibly horrible fate.

A law that often had more ban than good in it, but sometimes happened to bring fortune towards the prize. Were they lucky that was. Which it seemed was the case with him. But only so long as he was with them and obedient enough to not have them cause him harm that could else be prevented.

The moment he was free the Hunters could claim him as they pleased, chopping his hand off as they had so promised him for stealing their food. It was a small prize considering what he else had heard of stories concerning thieves and what had happened upon them were they caught fresh handed. Alas it was still a fate which he would rather be without, for reasons beyond obvious. It left him reluctant in wishing back his one-way ticket to freedom, but also put him in a position which he had trouble deciding on what to do. With the dagger back in his hand, he would be free to do as he so pleased, hide away and have none know of his whereabouts, just as he knew it should be, and hopefully never be found. On the other hand, were he to stay with them, and let them keep the dagger, it would be sold. That much was obvious, despite the Cossack's words. It was beyond priceless, enough to let these thieves live a life in luxury for possibly the rest of their lives, and who would not wish for a fate such as that? But if if were sold... Word would get out. His whereabouts could be found out. He could find out, and though he still had allies in what once was his home then he knew their assistance could only help him so far. Was he found out and tracked down they would be deemed unable to assist him any longer and thus leave him in a position where he could only imagine what horrors would await him.

The latter he knew was the worst fate of them all, but still he knew, were he to be freed from his new confinements, and have back his dagger, and were he to be caught by the Bounty Hunters, he was aware they would take the dagger as well, and so the same fate would occur to him. With him finding him, when the dagger had proved a good trade for a life in luxury.

He was stuck between two nails. Stuck between two versions of the same fate.

But as long as he knew he was trapped, there was a chance to escape, he knew. It was only a matter of how, and for now he could possibly settle with staying with the people whom he was currently traveling with. Having protected him, though reluctantly, it was possible they were not the worst of people. Alas this was only after few days of observation on his part. Having been stuck in a tavern along with them while the storm had hauled around them had maybe been just a way for them to lure him into their deceit of comfort. For him to lower his guard. He knew not what to make of this, and thus he felt uncertain. For reasons more than a single simple thought. But for reasons all narrowing down to a single person.

Him.

The faint figures far behind them were still following them. The Hunters still following them in hopes of him making a run for it, and give them a chance to take him to the fate tied to their presence.

A fate he certainly did not wish to meet.

With his frown deepening he turned his attention back to his new companions, just in time to see the Southerner toss his arms frustrated into the air because of something the Cossack had said no doubt, and then begin to speak in his native tongue - as Jack lacked in understanding of the language it sounded as nothing but a series of curious sounds to his ear. The Cossack followed his lead, his language, however, sounded far more clumsy in its wording than the Southerner's. More rough. More angry.

A thing he knew was a signature for the language in question.

The dwarf among them were watching them both with a dry expression, clearly tired from whatever the two had been going on about. It was an expression Jack all too quickly had found was almost a permanent feature on his face whenever the two were at it. And when it was not that, it was a calm smile or a sleeping face, as he seemed prone to sleep whenever he saw his chance. Which was quite a lot, mind you.

Noticing his stare, the dwarf, Sandy, turned his eyes towards him with a tired expression though a smile spread on his lips. It was friendly and warm, much like the person it possessed, but there was still something in his eyes. Pity, perhaps. Or something else. Something recognizable perhaps. Before Jack could put his finger on it it was gone again, as quick as it had appeared.

He had noticed it whenever he caught the dwarf looking his way, and when the other simply laid his eyes on him. The hard-to-place look in his eyes.

The wind made the dwarf's pointy toss around like a cascade of gold, with blinding spots of reflecting sun hitting it. His pointy hairstyle had long since been destroyed, the wind having rendered it impossible to keep it up, and though he had taken to tie it with a leather string the wind still managed to toss it around his pudgy face. More often than not were he to pull his hair out his face with a rather irritated expression on his face. One could not blame him as he was stuck with trying to keep it out of his face since they left the tavern early that day, with the sun just having risen above the horizon to expose a windy day with the storm in sight no longer.

They made camp on a small rocky patch of land with somewhat shade from the wind when the sun began to set, with the Cossack and the Southerner more or less storming off to find enough firewood for them to survive the night without having to fight off unwanted shadowy creatures. The dwarf, Sandy, and Jack were left behind to set up the tent though much too small to house four people, he noticed.

"Are we all going to sleep in the tent?" He had questioned when the remaining of their companions returned from their gathering of firewood.

The firewood fell to the ground from their arms where they were to make a fireplace, with the Southerner beginning to create the fire despite the still ever present wind around them making it troublesome for him to keep the faint embers alive long enough to get the fire going.

It was the Cossack who answered him, looking at him past his shoulder with his hands on his waist. "One will be on guard," he said simply as were it a given. "With monsters in night, it iz not safe to sleep without some to watch before we get to new tavern. You should know, yes?"

Jack nodded, taking his eyes from the older male and instead again focused on preparing the rest of the tent. Sandy's guidance had proven quite useful, as Jack had no knowledge of how to put up a tent. Never having had to be in need for doing something as this ever before with the life he had lived before he had ended up like this.

When the sun was disappearing down behind the horizon the tent was finally sturdy enough to stand, and the faint smell of taters cooking over the fire filled the small camp. Soon to be shared among them on small wooden plates. It was not much food for them to share, but he suspected this was not an uncommon treat for outlaws such as they. Still, it was more than welcome for him, as he by now rarely had the luxury of enjoying a meal every day, even just a small one. The small taters were eaten in silence between the four companions, none saying anything but their eyes all on the darkening world around them. Too soon they would have to be on guard when the sun would disappear, cloaking the world in the darkness of the night.

It was Bunny who assigned himself the first watch, hurrying them along to go catch some sleep before he would change his mind about it and put the others to take over.

The inside of the tent was cramped when Jack, North and Sandy all were inside, the latter filling up the most of the available space with his rather voluminous build.

Three bedrolls were spread out on the ground of the tent, each with a hide from what seemed to once have been a couple of bears but now provided these people with protection from the cold of the night.

With each having taken a bedroll Jack was left to take the one between the two males, with the space just large enough for him to lay between them without any unnecessary touching. It was not the first night he had had to sleep among them. Though this close was a first. Before, at the tavern, he had been deemed to sleep on the floor in their room as there were no room for more than the three in the bed. In honest he had been grateful for that. Having to spend the night among strangers were one thing, but to having to share a bed with them had been something else entirely. Especially when one did not know them, and did not trust them at all.

With hesitation Jack laid down between the two males who were at the moment removing weapons and other belongings from their person. Both had abandoned their boots for comfort, but everything else stayed on. A way to keep warmth, Jack thought, or perhaps a habit from living on the road, never knowing when one had to flee or fight.

Both were equally likely to be the reason.

"You going to sleep with that?" The Cossack asked him, eyeing the Shepherd's hook which Jack had laid beside him. "You believe not it uncomfortable?"

Hesitant Jack looked up at the other, then at his Shepherd's hook and back. His grip around the wood tightened just enough for his knuckles to turn a faint white. "I am," he replied, his voice just a bit too stiff and rejecting to be sure to fall into good soil.

The other seemed to notice it as well. The hint of a frown forming between his brows, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, instead being replaced by a nonchalant expression as he shrugged his shoulders, "as you wish," and continued to remove whichever weapons he still had hidden on his being. Just barely was Jack able to spot the hint of a golden jewel-covered hilt in the others coat before it disappeared back into one of the Cossack's jacket's inner-pocket.

His eyes were barely catching Jack's for a mere moment before it was broken, the Cossack then turning his back to him and pulled his hide over him and told their newest member to catch some sleep if he wished to have a chance to stay awake through their next day of traveling.

Jack's fingers twitched, his eyes on the red of the Cossack's jacket as the dilemma he was in once more washed over him. No matter what he did he was in trouble. Deep and serious trouble. Beyond what any of these people could possibly imagine.

The faint howling of the wind could be heard through the linen of the tent, making the cloth move to its will. The light from the fire outside the tent was able to make its way inside, creating shadows almost alive in the way they moved along the reds and yellows dancing across the tent's outer side, only to fade to darkness at the farthest end of the tent. Footsteps from the Southerner could be heard as he paced back and forth the small camp, occasionally tossing in a new log when the fire had become too faint and thus risking their temporary security from the horrors of the night.

Jack knew not how long he lay and had his mind wander, twisting and turning his new found position in hopes of finding the best way to escape without anything too troubling happening from it. With a slight groan he rolled onto his side, hoping at least to be able set his mind at peace for a while and catch just a few hours of sleep before he would have to awaken when the night would be over.

A deep sigh escaped him, trying to pull the hide further around him and keep what warmth he had. Though on a bedroll and with a warm hide around him and being relatively safe at the moment then his mind was too far way in thoughts and doubts that he could not seem to get calm enough to let the Dreaming pull him away from the Waking.

Trying he rolled to his other side, now with his back to the Cossack, and rather surprised stared directly into a pair of golden colored eyes, though they in the lack of light seemed more brown than anything else.

The dwarf said nothing to him, merely had an eyebrow raised at him and a questioning look upon his tired face. Though he said nothing - being a mute as Jack had quickly learned - it was clear what he was silently asking.

"Can't sleep," it sounded from the troubled young man, sending the other an apologetic look. Hoping he had not awakened him as such could not be the best thing to do under any circumstances. People tended to become rather sour when such things happened. Making one's temporary benefactors mad when one's position was in doubt could only be an unwise choice. Thus being polite and humble with concern for others was the best approach on such situations. "Did I awaken you?"

The dwarf shook his head with a beyond tired look on his face. A couple of long moments went by where he was clearly considering something. It was not long before he sat up, his hide falling down from his shoulders, and began to search in one of the few bags they had brought inside, apparently too important to risk being taken from whatever they thought might be interested in stealing them.

Sitting up on his elbows Jack watched as the dwarf kept rummaging through the back. He stuck a finger up for him to wait when Jack was about to speak, causing a wave of uneasiness to fill him. Countless of thoughts surging though him before he could stop himself. One more horrible than the other. But before he could get far too deep in such, the dwarf's face lightened up as he pulled up a small leather pouch. With an easy move it was opened, revealing what looked like- sand?

Confused Jack looked from the small man to the sand filled pouch in his hand, not understanding what was supposed to happen. Or what was so special about sand that the others had deemed it important enough to bring along in the first place.

Golden eyes observed him for a moment before returning to the pouch. With short chubby fingers he took a small dust of it in his hand, and turned to face the boy fully. Holding the sand up on his palm, the dwarf send him a smile before he blew it into Jack's face.

When he opened his eyes again it was morning.

The light sound of snoring filled the tent. Two sets of breathing had him slowly take his face from where it was planted on the bedroll. Lifting his head showed a light pool of drool where his mouth had been, Jack quickly drying his cheek in his sleeve with a somewhat confused expression. He could not even remember having fallen asleep.

A grunt made him turn to look at the ones around him, the Southerner and the dwarf, but with the Cossack nowhere to be seen.

It did not bother him much in his still sleep-clouded mind, as he instead sat with his head in his hand, dragging his hand down is face with a yawn escaping him. His other hand reached for his Shepherd's hook, feeling much relief in finding it where he had left it.

Sighing to himself he began rubbing sand out of his eyes, being still too tired for him to really wishing to get up. He had slept like a dream. Though the ground had been hard and the night cold and his thoughts seemingly unending, then it had been a miracle to say the least that he had slept as well as he had.

A couple of long minutes went by before he finally dragged himself up and out of the tent. The air was just as fresh and cold as it had the day before. The wind had died down, however, making so it was not all too horrible to stay outside the comfort of the tent. The sky was still cloudy, however, but even so the sun was having no trouble tossing its light down upon them.

Stretching his body Jack looked tiredly around, finding that the Cossack stood off to the side by a tree, relieving himself. Jack quickly looked away, trying to give the other at least some sense of privacy while he settled down on a rock by the dying fire. The firewood they had collected the day before was more or less used all up by now, only leaving a few sticks left. Just enough to keep the fire going with the intensity it had now for perhaps an hour if they were lucky.

He rested his Shepherd's hook up against his shoulder with an arm around it, putting his feet close to the fire to get some warmth into them - or rather his injury, as it had become quite sore from a night of having had cold surrounding it. Though it had become somewhat numb from the lack of heat, then he could feel stings of pain shoot through it whenever he moved it.

The heat was slow to spread but nonetheless more than welcome when it finally began to take a hold.

As he was focused on rubbing heat back into his limbs, the Cossack came back to the fire, sitting down on the opposite site of it. "Jack, he said, having the other look up just in time to catch a lump of bread tossed his way. It was hard and dry, possibly having a few weeks on its lifespan. Not very appealing in all honesty.

Noticing his hesitation the Cossack rolled his eyes at him. "It is not poisonous. And we have not much else. Do not believe we live in luxury."

"I don't," Jack quickly reassured, looking up at the other, sending him a not too convincing look on his part. It was better than nothing anyhow. So he took a bite of the breed, immediately feeling how it sucked all moisture from his mouth, leaving him struggling to swallow the bread when he had finished the fight it was to chew it. It helped when taking a rather large sip of the water in his leather bottle, but still knew it would a drag to eat the whole thing.

The Cossack looked more relaxed now that he was eating, he too finding a lump of bread from their back of supplies; just as hard to bite into as Jack's was, and made him drink equally much from his own supply of water. Though Jack had come to suspect it not being water, when it had been passed around the day before during their travel. He had been able to smell it from his spot behind the Cossack, the distinct smell of alcohol. No doubt the one his people were famous for fabricating. It had certainly made them just a bit tipsy from what he could tell that day. Possibly it was also what had sparked the argument that has appeared between the Cossack and the Southerner. They were each others opposites, that much he had understood from the sparse amount of time he had spent with them.

With his mind gone he did not notice it when the rest of their companions had appeared around the fire as well. Both looking just as tired as Jack had been when he had awakened. The Southerner more so than the dwarf.

It was only when Jack was almost done with his breakfast that he realized he was being spoken to.

Looking up his gaze was caught by the Cossack who looked just a tad impatiently at him.

Crap. What had he said?

"What?" He asked, looking confused at the other.

"How did you end up like this?" The Cossack asked again when taking a sip from his definitely-not-water-filled leather bottle. "You are to travel with us, so we should know, should we not?"

A tight expression appeared on Jack's face as he observed the other. His mouth running dry as his mind seemed to have gone blank. The question had been so unexpected that he had not ever thought of an explanation, were he ever to answer such. Having always been on his own and stayed away from people during the last couple of years, he had not thought he needed an answer to such questions. But of course they would want to know. To know one's companions was a thing he should have thought they would desire. He was new. A mystery. A stranger to them until they would get their answer and they were able to paint a picture of who he was.

But he could not tell them the truth. Not even if their life depended on it.

"Like everybody else," he finally settled for saying, knowing it was the most honest answer he could give without directly lying to them. Not that he was above lying. Far from it. It just bought him time to figure what to tell them.

"That is not an answer," the Southerner bit as he took the Cossack's leather bottle and took a sip. "Either ya tell us precisely what happened to ya or we're gonna have ta force it out of ya."

"Bunny enough," the Cossack scolded, taking his leather bottle back from the other with a disapproving look upon his face. The usual hint of rivalry sparked between them, but seemed to be gone as quick as it had appeared. "Tell us, yes? You tell your story, we tell you ours. It is good for bonding and trust. If we do not trust now, then how do we know we got each others back when fighting or doing heist?"

"I am only going to stay with you until I get my dagger back from you," Jack quickly objected, but was waved off by the Cossack as he waved his hand dismissively.

"Da, da, we are aware, but until you manage that then why not get to know us? What boring would it not be if we know little of each other? How will you get friends when you do not open and speak with others?"

He did not reply to that. Instead he looked from one of these strangers to the other. Though he knew their name and had figured they would not cut his throat in his sleep then he was very much aware that any actual association with them in terms of becoming actual allies was something he could not afford. Friends and acquaintances in general was something he could not afford.

Even if their presence at the moment offered him relative peace. A place to sleep and a meal everyday, however lousy a meal it was. Not to mention protection from the bounty hunters that were surely still following them from a distance in hope that he would make a run for it.

"So?" The Cossack inquired expectantly. "Are you willing to tell us, or are you supposed to remain mystery to us while we travel?"

"I want to hear your stories first," Jack said as a matter of fact. "Then I will tell you mine." And give myself more time to cook something up, he added in his mind, knowing if he said the words out loud he was sure to be the least trustworthy person here by far.

A calculative look crossed the Cossack's face by the proposal, his eyes lingering upon Jack's as if reading him. It lasted just for a few seconds before he nodded in agreement and clasped his hands together. "That is deal, but you have to tell then. No bad excuses or anything," he warned him, narrowing his eyes at him. "Everything told between us four is secret. Let it out to those not worthy of trust and punishment will come. No matter who. Understood?" When Jack nodded he seemed to find it acceptable enough, and thus made himself comfortable on the pelt he was currently sitting on. "In such case, I begin. Nicholas St. North, North to my friends, from the Land of Spires. You have heard of it, da?" When Jack nodded he continued, a smile on his lips as he began to tell his story. "I was orphan, living in the Belyy f'ord, the White Fjord, in your language. Lived as thief and hunter to survive. Very hard when snow is everywhere, and leaves footprint away from your scene of crime. Ah, but one day I got accepted by bandits, and taught master swordsmanship by their leader. When he died, I took over, let the bandits through raids after raids. It was glorious! All the treasure we collected was enough to feed all for months when I had been in charge for years." He smiled fondly at the memory, having a victorious glint in his eyes although a shadow seemed to lay over his face when he continued. "But, when bounty got too high on our heads we chose to move on. Kingdom was too small anyway, you see. So we came here. Then your Great General ran amok. I had gone off for myself, to scout the area for our next target, a village not far from where my bandits were hiding. When I came back-... There were no survivors." He silenced then; an obvious sting of sorrow filled him as he was lost in thoughts for long moments. "Ah, but here I am, sole survivor of the infamous Seryye Volki. Alive and well-"

Jack had to cut him off there, sure to believe he had heard wrong. "You were part of the Grey Wolves?" He asked in disbelieve. Though he did not know the language from the Land of Spires, he had heard enough of the infamous group to know their name in their native tongue.

His question seemed to take the Cossack aback. His expression soon melted from surprise to a smugness that rarely had seen its like. "The very same. But I cannot say I can use that more. I am last member of them, the rest were killed to the creatures your Kingdom hides in the night."

Jack had to take some time to process this. He was sitting here, by a fire in the outskirts of his homeland, speaking with a member of the Realm's possibly most infamous group of outlaws. Infamous enough to spread fear in even the kingdoms surrounding the Land of Spires.

And it was the leader of the gang no less.

Of course Jack knew he could be lying. That though seemed much less insane than anything else. He could have been a member of the Grey Wolves, that much was possible, but to have been the direct leader of them? That was doubtful.

Meaning the Cossack was most likely lying. Definitely lying. Though what swordsmanship he had seen him perform surely lived up to what he had heard about the gang - having said to be the best in their entire kingdom which also was why they had gotten so infamous to begin with, back when the Grey Wolves had only just started to form a century ago.

When the silence had dragged on for long enough the definitely-not-leader-of-the-most-infamous-group-of-outlaws turned his attention to the Southerner by his side, gesturing for him to begin his own story.

"Edmust Aster Bunnymund," he began, with clear dislike of having to tell his own story. "From the Shovaria Kingdom. Ain't much to tell. Lived with the oldies until they threw me out. Lived as outlaw for a time. Came home and saw 'em all dead because of some grommet who thought it fun to kill off all Pooka's, forgetting I was still around because of me being an outcast. Ain't anything worth bringing up. Came here before the General ran amok, and now stuck here like these two." He silenced then, having noticed Jack's stare and thus caused a beyond annoyed groan to escape him. "Yes, a Pooka, ain't anything special about it. Never were good at inventing like the rest of 'em. Battle is what I have always been better at, so don't think too much into it, ankle biter."

Pookas... The best and most efficient inventors in the Realm, famous for their huge intellect and scholars. Last thing any had heard of them they were experimenting with alchemy. Having made countless of discoveries such as healing potions and poisons in their tries to figure a way to transform metal to gold.

His thoughts must have been clear to him as he all but blurted, "no. No metal was ever bend to become gold. Ain't possible but those idiots thought it was important to try all possibilities. Ain't my fault they couldn't see it was a bad idea."

"But you created glass that do not shatter when dropped," Jack said with a disbelieving expression on his face. An invention countless of people had enjoyed the pros of.

"I didn't, were some other who did, but don't believe yer gonna enjoy that for much longer if you've ever encountered it. The recipe for that died along with the inventor when he died. Like much else that they had found."

"Why were you thrown out?" Jack asked curiously, finding his explanation much more believable than the Cossack's. Although he could not help but feel weird about the fact that they both had the 'last of their people' part in their stories. That part seemed highly unlikely. Another lie tossed his way, perhaps?

"Didn't fit in. Too wild and uninterested in inventing and sitting and glare into a book for hours. Good thing as well else I would have been a-" He silenced, having to look away as a darkened and sorrowful expression showed on his face. Another sorrowful back story. Did any of these people have any happy story behind them at all? But then again, he did not, and he had ended up as an outlaw himself, so why should they?

When he did not continue, Jack turned his gaze to the dwarf among them. He was looking uncomfortably at his companions. Even more so when his eyes landed on Jack it only lasted so long before turning his attention back to the Cossack, sending the other a nod and thus had him begin to speak.

"There is not much to tell," the Cossack began, catching Jack's attention, "Sanderson Mansnooozie, Sandy, was once noble man, came to the Capital from the Ever Reaching Desert when still young. Had wife, waited a kid. Life was good, but misfortune hits many in these time. He lost both during childbirth. He left life behind and became outlaw almost two decades ago. And here he is." He finished off his rather quick explanation, to which the person in question merely nodded, not even arguing about his story being done so quickly.

"Whoa, whoa hold up, you're a noble?" Jack asked wide eyed as his face began to pale just slightly. Why did his name sound so familiar? He was certain he had heard it before somewhere, but where, he did not know.

The small man nodded, watching him with an unreadable expression. It quickly changed to him making a so-so gesture.

"He was," the Pooka corrected, his expression much darker and sour than it had been before. "Haven't been the last two decades. Else you rally think some nobleman would spend his lives on the road making cheap tricks to steal a few coins?"

The question was met with no answer from Jack's side. His mind trying to make heads and tails of just who these people were. A definitely-not-leader of the no longer existing Grey Wolves, the possibly last Pooka, and a noble. It all sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. "The leader of the Grey Wolves, a Pooka, and a noble walks into a tavern..." It sounded from Jack before he could stop himself. Saying it out loud only confirmed that it indeed sound just like a bad joke. And here he thought he was done with company this crazy.

Fate surely enjoyed to play with him that was for certain.

To believe such mixed company were to come his way... What had he done to deserve this?

He did not have to think for long before the answer came to his mind, and a sting of horrible guilt shot through him before he could stop it, leaving him to push it aside to the best of his abilities. It was best not to dwell on the past. Though such a feat was close to impossible for him due to what happened... What he had done...

No, he should not think of it. There would be no use for it now when he had to focus on the people watching him. Focus on surviving was all he needed at the moment. There was no time for such concerns. These people expected his own story from him now. How he had ended up an outlaw.

Why did he feel like he had not had enough time to come up with a lie?

He heard their voices, asking him. Panic surged though him as he knew he had to quickly come up with something. Anything could be used, as long as it did not expose anything. If they knew...

Oh by the Moon if they knew...

"Well?"

He looked up at the Southerner who had spoken, feeling his heart hammer in his chest as were it trying to escape it. He could do it. He had lived a life on being taught how to lie and make it look convincing. This was nothing. These were outlaws, but they were just that. Outlaws. They did not know of anything concerning... That. Save for the dwarf, but he was a mute...

"I'm... Jackson Overland, I used to be a farmer," he finally settled for saying, unknowingly tightening his grip in his Shepherd's hook as he spoke his lie. "Herded sheep. Family was killed when the creatures came after the General ran amok. Couldn't find anyone to take over the farm nor give me sheep to take care of so I could pay taxes, so I ended up living on the street."

What could easily have been an eternity dragged on when he had told his rather hurried story. It was a lie. Of course it was. But it was all he could come up with in that moment. It explained the Shepherd's hook after all. And was a lie he could easily remember.

As if having read his mind, the Cossack finally spoke, his words lifting a heavy weight that had settled upon Jack's shoulders from his desperation to have them believe him. "Ah, of course, it explains your staff," he said as were it the most obvious thing in the world. But then... He took the golden jewel-covered dagger out of his inner pocket and held it up in an angle that made the red jewels shine. "But then how do you explain this?"

"I won it." The words escaped him so fast he had to mentally punch himself.

"You won it?" The Southerner asked skeptically, a brow raised in a clear sign that he did not believe him. "A dagger from the Golden Army. You just won it?"

"Yes," Jack said, making sure his voice was steady and calm as he spun his lie. "I was in a tavern a year ago. There were soldiers there, taking a break with some bets and whatnot. I don't remember how, but I ended up in a bet with one of them, with a game of cards. If I won I got the dagger, if they won they would get their own personal slave for the rest of their life. My opponents were drunk so they weren't all that hard to win over, and everybody knows their codex demands they pay their debts, so when I won they had no choice but to give me the payment."

He looked at them with as much trustworthiness and calm as he could muster as they took in his story.

"And you did not even think of ending your life as outlaw with a dagger as priceless as this? Live in luxury for the rest of your life?" The Cossack demanded to know.

"No. There is no fun in that. Isn't it much more fun to use it to bet against others, and take their money when you know you can win against them in any game of cards you want? Or to let them win and have them believe their sorrows are finally over, only to steal it away again?" No. No it was not, but he had to come up with something. "Besides do you have any idea what would happen if any higher up were to find out that a commoner has a dagger from the Golden Army? Not only will the ones who let it go be severely punished, but I would be so deep in trouble my dead ancestors would appear before me to tell me I screwed up. Not exactly anything I would enjoy."

Silence settled after his explanation, only the sound of dying fire could be heard for a time until it eventually died out and remained as nothing but sad embers in the ash. Never before had he been so afraid that his lie would not be believed. He had chosen his words with care, desperate to make it sound as believable as possible.

If they didn't...

His ancestors surely would appear before him then to tell him he screwed up, that much was certain.

Silently he prayed to the Moon they would accept this lie as the truth.

"Bah, I always say the soldiers are stupid," The Cossack finally announced, putting the dagger back into his inner-pocket. "Bet a dagger away that is worth more than they earn? That is stupidest thing I have heard! More stupid than the time I saw one of them drink horse piss instead of his beer. Don't ask," he added when seeing Jack's expression, mistaking his relieve to be a questioning look. "Do not even get me started with when we met them in one of the three main citadels! Which one was it... Ah, do not matter, I should tell you that one, you see it is very funny story."

The Cossack began telling his story, accompanied by the Southerner who seemed just as convinced as the Cossack that the story Jack had given had been nothing but the truth. Their previous encounters with soldiers from the Golden Army seemed to be what had convinced them. A thing Jack was beyond relieved for. He might as well cry from how relieved he was from them believing his lie, as he now felt light beyond compare with a heavy weight having lifted from his whole being.

But even so he could not help but feel that was not quite the case with the last of their companion.