Ash scoffed. It was certainly amazing how one's fortune could twist and turn in a matter of hours. Upon his arrival to his homeland, Ash had found himself with no place to go, besides the crude gravestone that some stranger had carved to remember his mother long lost. The village was swelling with lords and soldiers, so he was hard pressed to find an affordable inn to sleep. And he wasn't very well-off in the financial issue either. Perhaps he should've considered his actions a little more, before tossing some coins at the assorted orphans who had not been put off by his appearance.

He hadn't been so lucky with other people. Most adults and honest folk knew better than to talk with a man whose armor was black. A sellsword at best, and a miscreant at worst. That was the opinion of people on those who painted their armor black. Black Knights were always the villain of the tales. Half of it was true. He was a sellsword after all, and he had done morally reprehensible actions in the past. But now, all that he wanted was a place to rest and forget. It was then when the edict of the bounty had caught its attention. A good thing he could read, because apparently there was a couple of highwaymen who had assaulted and killed travellers on occassion. The cultured warrior had decided to grab the reward for himself, as it could solve his short term problems.

So he had made questions, searched for witnesses who could describe where and how they had been attacked. And then he imposed the patterns of attack on a map, sniffing out several possible locations. He didn't have much expectations on finding them the first day of search, but somehow, he had done so. Thanking his good luck, he fell upon them. The man was completely caught unaware, only uttering a gurgle when the sword severed his throat and promptly woke him up from his complacent sleep. The woman was shook awake by the noise, and grabbed a quarterstaff in a desperate attempt to defend herself, but Ash didn't hesitate. He rammed her with his shield against the wall of the hovel, and then ran her through with his blade. Incidentally, the thrashing of the moribund female bandit stained his black plate with red blood. His deed done, the black knight then cut off their heads to claim the bounty upon them.

And in that exact moment, his luck had started to go sour. Just as he had fallen upon the bandits, night had fallen upon him. And he was still a fair distance away from the safety of the village. Adding further grief, a chilly wind was announcing the start of a blizzard. Luckily for him, he had spotted some wheel marks and threaded snow. Ash followed the trail at a fair distance, as probably whoever was in the caravan would not react kindly upon seeing a bloodstained black knight with two severed heads on his horse's rump. He had noticed, though, that some of the people were struggling to keep the pace, and he was about to help them when he noticed more riders approaching the caravan. By the looks of them, they seemed Whiteland troops. And if he could see them, he had been likely spotted.

Muttering a curse, and then rummaging for his flask of brandy and taking a generous sip out of it, he quickly began to think what kind of explanation he was about to give to them.