He was glad to hear that Griff had stories of his own, but John's smile drooped into a slight frown as the topic of the conversation immediately took a turn for the worse. Now that he thought about it, it was almost a certainty that Crom had killed before but that had never been amongst the criteria he judged the man on when they met in a tavern. He was salty, big, and frankly the only candidate. Hearing him admit it so simply was unnerving, to say the least of it. The shiver that ran down his back might have just been the cold though. Death was something he didn't have much experience with, hardship and violence sure but Wenigsten was a man who knew well enough to cut out before people starting getting cut up. He looked around the group, casting glances and wondering what the others were thinking. Of course, there were killers among them; there weren't too many people who made it out on the road. People with clean slates grew rarer by the day but that wasn't going to stop him from trying. He walked along, thinking for a moment rather than speaking. He didn't want to agree with Griff, that violence had won out in the world, but it wasn't as if a man who'd just weeks ago been let out of stockade could argue against that truth. Walking in silence didn't suit him, however. "Hopefully... we can get over these mountains without having to kill anyone, eh?" He said, looking around and trying to smile.