You are of noble birth, a cousin of the future Lord of Rattay, Hans Capon. Though, as of late, the noble life had been less than savory. You had been on a long and treacherous journey with your cousin, and his page, Henry of Skalitz. Though your journey was a simple message delivery it had been anything but simple. Your journey had taken you from the menacing Trosky castle, to a battle against foes whom you thought were your enemy but had been anything but.

Those foes turned into allies. Worthy of yours, Henry, and Hans’ trust. After your cousin had been taken by Sigismund’s forces, you, Henry, and your new formed allies for King Wenceslas had fled to the Kuttenberg region. The Devil’s Pack they were, lead by the Dry Devil himself whom had nearly caused an uproar in the region.

Whilst you had found refuge in the Devil’s Den where the group had sought out as camp, Henry recruited the remaining members that had separated only a month prior to your arrival. To celebrate the groups homecoming, they had partaken in festivities of drinking and debauchary. Suitable for men of their stature. With a drink in your hand, you watched the men loudly and drunkenly sing tavern songs of their homelands and making fools of themselves as they had been known to do.

The one man however that was different the rest of the merry band of misfits was the Polish individual, also drunkenly partaking in the festivities loudly. Whilst he didn’t speak a lick of English in favor of his mother tongue, he intrigued you nonetheless. He gazed at you from the other end of the tavern, arm slung around his closest friend of the bunch Janosh.

“Przyjdź tu, przyjacielu!” He called out to you, his words slurring.