There is bad way to win and there is a good way to lose; what’s interesting while also being troubling is that it’s not always clear which is which. A flipped coin doesn’t always land on head or tail, sometimes it may never lands at all -- grimsley
Kosh hadn't expected to find a slice of home in the hoard. Precisely, an octagonal slice of gemstone engraved with the stylised castle chess piece that was Whitekeep's sigil. It was not olivine, it was emerald. Illegal, but only if a Baron sold it off as a gemstone rather than a coin worth one hundred gold. Seeing it, holding it, watching the light glint off its minting marks, made him so homesick it rocked him.
It was the only reason why he didn't notice the enemy catching up with them. He did notice the blade at his neck and said, "Please, I do that every morning. You're not as threatening as you think." He stood, turned, and noticed that there were two of them for each of them. "Wunderbar."
"Drop it, Tief," said their leader. Some asshole in fancy, shiny armour. Full plate and overloaded with embellishments. "That's our booty you have your filthy hands on."