For a moment, rage shakes within you. He thinks he can simply call upon you and you'll trot over to his castle? What sort of man does he take you for? The bubble of rage bursts, and you find yourself tearing the letter in two, before crumpling it and throwing it on the floor. Bertrand gulps slightly as he watches.

"Leave me," you say, and he does. You carry on that day as you normally do, drinking heartily and eating when your stomach grumbles. As usual, you pass out late into the night, last bottle of wine in hand.

When you wake the next day, you're fully hit by the reality of the situation. The king threatened to send men to acquire you should you fail to show up after a week. You can't stay here anymore, and if you do, then they'll come sooner or later. This means you'd either need to move on, or try to hold out and fend off any of his men who come your way.

What's it going to be, hero?
> You will not leave your home. If the king sends men here, you'll send them back.
You scoff at the idea of leaving your home. The king says he'll send men your way if you don't respond? Oh, please. You can fend off any pansies he sends your way. Though you're getting up there in years, you can still fight with the strength of a hundred soldiers.

With that, you resolve to continue on as you've been doing. For the next few days, you don't do much; you get your bread and wine from Bertrand, drink until you black out, then do it again. It continues this way until, finally, a week has passed since the letter.

You've almost forgotten about it when Bertrand enters your room at around midday. He's already brought you your bread and wine, so you're not sure why he'd come here. His expression is a mask of worry and fear. "Explain yourself," you say, and Bertrand nods with a gulp.

"The king has sent his men here, sir. They're here to take you away to Castle Oren." Bertrand is looking very afraid.

"Send them away."

"What?"

"I said send them away. I don't wish to entertain them."

"But sir..."
> You you're not having this. Bertrand should get them out of here.
This is getting irritating. You told Bertrand to turn anyone away, and the fact that he's ignoring your orders is starting to piss you off a bit. "Go on, Bertrand. Send them away, and don't come back until tomorrow. I don't wish to hear about fools coming to my door."

Bertrand releases a sigh, but nods. "Very well sir. I'll go tell them they're not wanted here." With those words, Bertrand turns and leaves the room. You expect him to come rushing back a few minutes later, but he doesn't. It seems the king's men listened to his demands.

Hours pass until finally, the sun has set and the sky is dark. You're about to head to bed, when you hear a faint voice calling your name out. It doesn't sound like it's someone in trouble, so it's probably nothing.

You lay down, and close your eyes...

"Kit..."

You keep your eyes clenched tight...

"Come to me..."

You grind your teeth together...

"I need to see you..."
> You damn it all... You'll go investigate, and see who the hell it is.
With a groan, you slip out of your velvet sheets and head to the door. For a moment, you reconsider your choice, but turn the knob and step into the dark hallway. The only light comes from the moon leaking in through closed windows, and you look around, listening for the voice.

"Kit..."

You catch a glimpse of a white figure down the hall, but it disappears before you can get a good look. Picking up the pace, you follow after it. The voice continues to call out to you, growing louder as you descend deeper into your manor.

"I need to see you, Kit..."

You continue to follow the voice until you reach the manor's wine cellar. When you open the door, you're greeted by a woman in white. Her brown hair falls past her shoulders and brushes against her hips. Her white dress flows freely, and around her neck she wears a holy symbol of Judeau, God of Life. Her skin is deathly pale and her green eyes bear holes into your own grey orbs. You know that face anywhere. It hasn't aged a day in twenty years.

"Lilith..."

For a moment fear grips you. You saw her die, that poison dart pierced her throat and she was done for. She was so out of breath she couldn't speak her incantations and heal herself. Yet still, she's standing here before you now, a specter of the past. "I thought you died," you say because you still can't believe she's here.

A smile graces her lips. "I did."

"You... You're dead. You're not real. I'm losing my mind..."

"I'm very real, Kit. Myself and the others have been watching over you, ever since that day. We thought you could pull yourself out of this..." She shakes her head, disapprovingly. "We thought you were better than this, Kit."

Despite the circumstances, you let out a dark chuckle. God, you need a drink. "Better than what? I didn't have much incentive to live after you all died. I didn't even want to go on that fucking adventure. It was Grace who roped us all into it."

"Yet you still went. Why was that?"

Great, now she's interrogating you. You really want that drink... "She was... You were all my friends. I wanted to..."

"Wanted to what, Kit?"

"I wanted to... DAMMIT!" You can't help it. You head to one of the shelved bottles, reaching for it.

"Don't."

Despite Lilith's warning, you grab hold of it, when a sudden burst of wind knocks you back. You crash against another shelf of wine bottles, shattering them from the sheer force of your impact. "W-what the Hell was that for!?"

"I don't want to talk to some drunkard, Kit. I want to talk to you."

Your anger flares. "Go back to whatever fuckin' afterlife you crawled out of! I don't want whatever you're selling me!" You pull yourself up and walk to the door.

"Kit. Listen to me."

You place a hand on the doorknob...
> You ... And release it with a sigh, staying in the room.
Despite your anger, you can't leave. This is your first time talking with one of your old friends in two decades. You need this. So, you release your grip on the doorknob and turn to Lilith. Although, just because you're staying doesn't mean you have to be nice about it. "What the hell is it, Lilith? I'm fucking tired."

The smile makes its way onto her face again. "Thank you for staying."

"Don't got all night here..."

She sighs. "Right... I'm here to show you why you shouldn't try to stay and rot in your home."

"Really? Because it's been working out just fine so far."

"You'll see." Lilith snaps her fingers. A blinding light fills the room, reflecting off the glass wine bottles. Your vision goes white and you stick your hands up to block the light... Then, you're gone.
> You continue
Once upon a time you were called the greatest hero to ever live.

You must have been twenty at the time. Fresh faced, spunky as all hell, and too optimistic for your own good. With book of spells in hand, you set out with your childhood friends to save the world from an evil wizard (damn, you can't even remember his name) bent on enslaving mankind. When you left home, there were five of you: a fighter, a rogue, a bard, a healer, and yourself, a mage.

The six month long journey to the wizard's tower was filled with happy times, light hearted misadventures as you all prepared for fortune and glory. When you reached the tower, the mood quickly changed. Your bard fell to a herd of undead that ambushed you at the entrance. The healer took a poison dart to the throat on the fourth floor while the rogue was burned to ash by a pyromancer on the seventeenth floor. Yourself and the fighter were all that remained when you reached the twentieth and final floor, and he was cut down halfway through the fight with the wizard. When the dust cleared and all was quiet, you were the last one standing.

You returned home a year after you had left it. The villagers showered you in praise for killing the wizard, and word reached the nobles in the cities far away that the evil wizard had been defeated. They held a feast in your honor, they showered you in gold, they gave you a title and a manor and an army of servants. Men wanted you, women wanted to be you. But it was all hollow.

You played along for the first ten years, finding little joy in the newfound fortune and glory you had longed for. It wasn't until the writers and artists began to touch your quest that you finally shut yourself in. It started innocently enough, sanitized children's tales about the exploits of you and your allies, but soon it became epic poems and romanticized paintings. One by one, your friends disappeared from the fictionalized tales of your quest, until it was just you, the mage in flowing robes, slaying the vile wizard with your vast arcane knowledge.

That was when you finally isolated yourself, to hide from the common folk and their damning praise, from the artists and their bastardized accounts. For five years you wandered the roads of the Oren Kingdom, not staying in one place for too long, hoping that eventually you'd forget who you were. It didn't work. Just as luck would have it, you were recognized one day, and soon people were traveling the all the highways and country roads of the Kingdom. All in the hopes of meeting you, the legendary hero.

In these last five years, you've stayed locked up in an old cabin deep in the woods. You survive off of game in the woods for food, and use an old stream for water. At night you cast the most harmful spells you can, hoping that one will finally backfire and put you out of your misery. So far, none have.

It's a fitting end for the woman regarded as the greatest hero to ever live: locking herself away in a ratty old cabin, hunting and casting and waiting for the day she finally dies.
> You continue
And just like that you're back to the cellar.

You're on your hands and knees, taking in sharp breaths, before you look back up at Lillith's ghostly figure. "W-what... What was that?"

"Have you ever considered that it could have been any one of us to see the quest through to the end? Do you think it wouldn't weigh on our souls watching our only surviving friend destroy themselves? Grace chose to fill the void by isolating herself from society. I cut the vision off before you could watch her go mad from the isolation and hang herself."

"So that's what would have happened... What about Henry and Thomas?"

"Them? Henry would have filled the void with alcohol and women until he died from the diseases he caught. Thomas would have filled the void by stealing everything from everyone until he was finally caught and hung for his crimes."

"What about you?" you ask after a moment.

"Myself? I would have looked for every way to bring you four back. It would have led me down a dark path. You don't want to see how that would have turned out."

There's a moment of silence as you contemplate what you just saw. Your... Friend, Grace, and the path she would have gone down if it was you who died that day. Lillith filled you in on what the others would have done.

That's when you realize something: they're hurting, watching you from the afterlife. Hurting enough that they sent Lillith down to try to get you to turn your life around. The question remains of what you'll do with this information.
> You need to do something different with your life.
As you mull it over, a tear escapes your eye. Watching what you watched, hearing what you heard... It breaks you. Your friends are watching you, suffering as they watch you throw your life away. If the situations were different, you know you'd feel the same.

The tears flow freely now. Still on your knees, you turn to Lilith and mumble, "You're right."

A small smile graces her lips. "I know that."

Despite yourself, you laugh. "Right. Of course you would." You stand up. For the first time in two decades, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. You feel liberated... But with that liberation, you also feel uncertainty. "What should I do?"

"Whatever you wish, Kit." Lilith's smile fades. "But now, my work here is done. I must go."

You were expecting that. A sigh escapes your lips. "I figured as much. Goodbye, Lilith. Send the others my regards."

"I will."

With those two words, she disappears. You smile faintly, before ascending the stairs and returning to your room. Climbing under the velvet sheets, you close your eyes, and fall into your first dreamless sleep in years.

The next day, you write up a letter in response to the king's call to arms. When Bertrand enters the room with today's shipment of bread and wine, you raise a hand to stop him from putting it down. "I've no need for that, Bertrand. Here." You hand him the letter. "See that the king receives this letter."

Bertrand looks shocked. He places the letter on the tray and leaves the room with a nod to you. You sigh, then sit back down, contemplating the future.

It's a new day and the start of a new way of life for you.

THE END


And just like that you're back to the cellar.

You're on your hands and knees, taking in sharp breaths, before you look back up at Lillith's ghostly figure. "W-what... What was that?"

"Have you ever considered that it could have been any one of us to see the quest through to the end? Do you think it wouldn't weigh on our souls watching our only surviving friend destroy themselves? Grace chose to fill the void by isolating herself from society. I cut the vision off before you could watch her go mad from the isolation and hang herself."

"So that's what would have happened... What about Henry and Thomas?"

"Them? Henry would have filled the void with alcohol and women until he died from the diseases he caught. Thomas would have filled the void by stealing everything from everyone until he was finally caught and hung for his crimes."

"What about you?" you ask after a moment.

"Myself? I would have looked for every way to bring you four back. It would have led me down a dark path. You don't want to see how that would have turned out."

There's a moment of silence as you contemplate what you just saw. Your... Friend, Grace, and the path she would have gone down if it was you who died that day. Lillith filled you in on what the others would have done.

That's when you realize something: they're hurting, watching you from the afterlife. Hurting enough that they sent Lillith down to try to get you to turn your life around. The question remains of what you'll do with this information.
> You won't change because the dead wish it.
You almost laugh. She wants you to bow to their wills and change yourself, for what? For their sake? They're dead. You're still standing. You heard Lilith out, but that doesn't mean you agree with her. You chose this path, and if it was one of the others they would have chosen their paths as well. To hell with what she thinks of your choices.

"Leave me, Lilith," you say.

Lilith's ghostly eyes widen in shock. "What?"

"Leave me. I don't want to hear this. I made my choices, I got myself into this situation. If you came here thinking you could change me, then you're wasting your time."

Her eyes harden as she stares at you. "I thought you were better than this, Kit."

You don't deign her with a response, or at least not one she can hear. Despite yourself, you find yourself muttering, "so did I" under your breath as you turn your back on her. A moment passes, and when you turn to see if she's still there, you find she's gone. A sigh escapes your lips as you walk to the door and ascend the stairs, back up to your room. Once there, you collapse into bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

In the morning Bertrand comes with your bread and wine. You take it, send him out of the room, and spend the rest of the day eating and drinking as you always have. The next day, Bertrand comes in the morning with the bread and wine, which you take and spend the rest of the day eating and drinking. It continues on for weeks without interruption, until one day, something changes.

You wake in the early morning hours to a yell. Your head is pounding and your stomach is killing you, but you push through and get out of bed. Stumbling out of your room, you see a man slumped against the wall: Bertrand. "Bertrand!" you shout, running to him. As you get closer, however, you notice the blood trailing down his neck. It flows freely from a fierce red slash across his throat. Bertrand is dead.

You look around, wondering who in the hell did this to your servant, when you feel a sharp pain in your arm. Looking, you find that a crossbow bolt has embedded itself into your bicep. "W-what the hell!?" you choke out. Another bolt flies true, hitting your thigh and causing you to fall to a kneel. Footsteps approach from your left, and you turn your head to look. What you see is a man, dressed in black. He approaches you, pulling out a dagger.

"Who are you?" you ask.

He simply sticks the dagger to your throat and cuts. As you fall to the ground, vision darkening and lungs filling with blood, he speaks: "The king sends his regards."

Then, all is silent.

THE END


With a groan, you slip out of your velvet sheets and head to the door. For a moment, you reconsider your choice, but turn the knob and step into the dark hallway. The only light comes from the moon leaking in through closed windows, and you look around, listening for the voice.

"Kit..."

You catch a glimpse of a white figure down the hall, but it disappears before you can get a good look. Picking up the pace, you follow after it. The voice continues to call out to you, growing louder as you descend deeper into your manor.

"I need to see you, Kit..."

You continue to follow the voice until you reach the manor's wine cellar. When you open the door, you're greeted by a woman in white. Her brown hair falls past her shoulders and brushes against her hips. Her white dress flows freely, and around her neck she wears a holy symbol of Judeau, God of Life. Her skin is deathly pale and her green eyes bear holes into your own grey orbs. You know that face anywhere. It hasn't aged a day in twenty years.

"Lilith..."

For a moment fear grips you. You saw her die, that poison dart pierced her throat and she was done for. She was so out of breath she couldn't speak her incantations and heal herself. Yet still, she's standing here before you now, a specter of the past. "I thought you died," you say because you still can't believe she's here.

A smile graces her lips. "I did."

"You... You're dead. You're not real. I'm losing my mind..."

"I'm very real, Kit. Myself and the others have been watching over you, ever since that day. We thought you could pull yourself out of this..." She shakes her head, disapprovingly. "We thought you were better than this, Kit."

Despite the circumstances, you let out a dark chuckle. God, you need a drink. "Better than what? I didn't have much incentive to live after you all died. I didn't even want to go on that fucking adventure. It was Grace who roped us all into it."

"Yet you still went. Why was that?"

Great, now she's interrogating you. You really want that drink... "She was... You were all my friends. I wanted to..."

"Wanted to what, Kit?"

"I wanted to... DAMMIT!" You can't help it. You head to one of the shelved bottles, reaching for it.

"Don't."

Despite Lilith's warning, you grab hold of it, when a sudden burst of wind knocks you back. You crash against another shelf of wine bottles, shattering them from the sheer force of your impact. "W-what the Hell was that for!?"

"I don't want to talk to some drunkard, Kit. I want to talk to you."

Your anger flares. "Go back to whatever fuckin' afterlife you crawled out of! I don't want whatever you're selling me!" You pull yourself up and walk to the door.

"Kit. Listen to me."

You place a hand on the doorknob...
> You ... And swing the door open in a huff, leaving the room.
You reach for the door and open it. Lilith calls out to you, anger evident in her voice as she says, "I thought you were better than this, Kit!"

You don't deign her with a response, or at least not one she can hear. Despite yourself, you find yourself muttering, "so did I" under your breath. A moment passes, and when you turn to see if she's still there, you find she's gone. A sigh escapes your lips as you walk to the door and ascend the stairs, back up to your room. Once there, you collapse into bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

In the morning Bertrand comes with your bread and wine. You take it, send him out of the room, and spend the rest of the day eating and drinking as you always have. The next day, Bertrand comes in the morning with the bread and wine, which you take and spend the rest of the day eating and drinking. It continues on for weeks without interruption, until one day, something changes.

You wake in the early morning hours to a yell. Your head is pounding and your stomach is killing you, but you push through and get out of bed. Stumbling out of your room, you see a man slumped against the wall: Bertrand. "Bertrand!" you shout, running to him. As you get closer, however, you notice the blood trailing down his neck. It flows freely from a fierce red slash across his throat. Bertrand is dead.

You look around, wondering who in the hell did this to your servant, when you feel a sharp pain in your arm. Looking, you find that a crossbow bolt has embedded itself into your bicep. "W-what the hell!?" you choke out. Another bolt flies true, hitting your thigh and causing you to fall to a kneel. Footsteps approach from your left, and you turn your head to look. What you see is a man, dressed in black. He approaches you, pulling out a dagger.

"Who are you?" you ask.

He simply sticks the dagger to your throat and cuts. As you fall to the ground, vision darkening and lungs filling with blood, he speaks: "The king sends his regards."

Then, all is silent.

THE END


This is getting irritating. You told Bertrand to turn anyone away, and the fact that he's ignoring your orders is starting to piss you off a bit. "Go on, Bertrand. Send them away, and don't come back until tomorrow. I don't wish to hear about fools coming to my door."

Bertrand releases a sigh, but nods. "Very well sir. I'll go tell them they're not wanted here." With those words, Bertrand turns and leaves the room. You expect him to come rushing back a few minutes later, but he doesn't. It seems the king's men listened to his demands.

Hours pass until finally, the sun has set and the sky is dark. You're about to head to bed, when you hear a faint voice calling your name out. It doesn't sound like it's someone in trouble, so it's probably nothing.

You lay down, and close your eyes...

"Kit..."

You keep your eyes clenched tight...

"Come to me..."

You grind your teeth together...

"I need to see you..."
> You bah, you don't have time for this. You're going to sleep.
You shake your head. You must be going mad to be hearing voices. It would be best not to look into it, for your own sanity if nothing else. You clench your eyes shut and throw a pillow over your head to block the voices out. Within minutes, you manage to doze off, falling into a fitful sleep full of nightmares.

In the morning, you begin to hear the voice again. It beckons for you to come to it, but you don't give in. You spend the day as you normally do, drinking wine and eating bread and passing out late into the night... But the voice does not stop.

This cycle continues for days, then weeks. You try to block the voice out but it keeps coming, and soon, it is joined by even more. Begging for you to come see them. When you resist, the voices continue, increasing in volume and barely contained rage.

One night you wake up in a cold sweat, greeted by the screeches of these specters haunting you. You're not sure how much more of this you can take.
> You need to escape, permanently. You reach for the dagger on your bedside.
You can't take it anymore, no matter how hard you try. You reach for the dagger on your bedside, kept there for emergencies that never came. Now, it'll finally see some use. Ripping open your nightshirt's sleeves, you press the dagger against your wrist. The voices cry out for you not to do it, but you don't listen.

You slash downward against your wrist, splitting your veins and an artery. Blood leaks freely from the wound. Then, you do the same with the second wrist, beginning to feel light-headed. The voices continue to screech horrifically. It hurts your head to listen to, and combined with the blood loss makes your dizziness worse.

"You won't take me, you bastards!" you scream out at them, voice hoarse. With what little strength you have left, you pull your head back with one hand. With the other hand, you place the dagger against your throat and take a deep breath. Then, you slash. Darkness overtakes you.

Finally, there is silence.

THE END


You shake your head. You must be going mad to be hearing voices. It would be best not to look into it, for your own sanity if nothing else. You clench your eyes shut and throw a pillow over your head to block the voices out. Within minutes, you manage to doze off, falling into a fitful sleep full of nightmares.

In the morning, you begin to hear the voice again. It beckons for you to come to it, but you don't give in. You spend the day as you normally do, drinking wine and eating bread and passing out late into the night... But the voice does not stop.

This cycle continues for days, then weeks. You try to block the voice out but it keeps coming, and soon, it is joined by even more. Begging for you to come see them. When you resist, the voices continue, increasing in volume and barely contained rage.

One night you wake up in a cold sweat, greeted by the screeches of these specters haunting you. You're not sure how much more of this you can take.
> No. You won't take the easy way out. You'll hold out, as long as it takes.
You shout, "Leave me alone!" The voices continue despite your protests, and you find yourself unsure if you truly can continue like this... The dagger is awfully tempting...

No. You won't bow to their whims. Gritting your teeth, you hop out of bed and begin to yell as loud as you can, "LEAVE ME! I WON'T GIVE INTO THE LIKES OF YOU!" Still, the voices do not stop their incessant screeching. So, you scream back louder.

You're not sure how long the back and forth screaming goes on for. All you know is that before long, you stop yelling and begin to laugh maniacally. The voices quiet this way, but you're not sure for how long. Have you gone mad? Or is this working? Then again, who's to say it isn't both?
> You keep laughing! This is working! You can feel yourself slipping away, away from them and all your problems!
It's working! The voices are getting quieter! You laugh, and laugh, and laugh away! You continue laughing until you can hear nothing but the laughter! Then you laugh even more! It's all you need! Now there is nothing in the world except you, and your laughter!

Bertrand finds you the next morning, curled up in a fetal position and laughing. Tears stream from your eyes, and every now and again you let out a wheeze from lack of breath. He stares at you, horrified, before pulling you up and carrying you out. He sends for a sage from the next town over to look into your sudden onset of uncontrollable laughter.

When the sage arrives at midday, he takes one look at the giggling wreck that you are and shakes his head. Still, he sets to work trying to get you to respond. You simply laugh at him. After an hour, he admits defeat. "He's gone mad," the sage says. "There's nothing I can do."

He binds you with rope and drags you into his wagon, taking you into the town. There, he admits you into an asylum, while you continue to chuckle without end. The staff beats you in an attempt to get you to stop; it does not work. Eventually, they cut out your tongue, but you let out breathless wheezes that sound like laughter nonetheless.

Finally, one morning, a worker at the asylum grows irritated with your laughing. In the middle of the night, he enters your room and slits your throat. In his dreams, he can hear you laughing mad, without end...

THE END


You shout, "Leave me alone!" The voices continue despite your protests, and you find yourself unsure if you truly can continue like this... The dagger is awfully tempting...

No. You won't bow to their whims. Gritting your teeth, you hop out of bed and begin to yell as loud as you can, "LEAVE ME! I WON'T GIVE INTO THE LIKES OF YOU!" Still, the voices do not stop their incessant screeching. So, you scream back louder.

You're not sure how long the back and forth screaming goes on for. All you know is that before long, you stop yelling and begin to laugh maniacally. The voices quiet this way, but you're not sure for how long. Have you gone mad? Or is this working? Then again, who's to say it isn't both?
> You what are you doing? You get a grip on yourself and stop, before you slip into a pit you cannot pull yourself out of.
You snap yourself back to reality, before you can lose yourself to the madness. Truly, you must be losing your mind. No sane man would break into a fit of laughter like you did, let alone hear voices calling to him in the dead of night. Your mind reaches for answers as to what the hell is going on, but it is met by silence.

There is something hanging over you, however. Some sort of entity guiding your actions, predetermining your paths and setting you on one or the other. You can feel the mouse hovering over you, watching, waiting for that next blue hyperlink to show up. I wonder if they're reading this. And if they are, I wonder what their thoughts are on what I'm writing. I'm going on a tangent. You probably think I'm just trying to cash in on the success some people had in 'connecting' with the reader in their own stories, don't you? The truth is, I don't know why this page turned out like it did.

Do you think the people reading this will ever find this path? Maybe they're skimming over all these words, trying to find an end game link. Maybe they're completionists and are trying to find every ending. The odds of this being the first path that a player finds is slim. There's other, more exciting paths out there, aren't there? So many different paths this story could have taken and they choose the stay at home and go nuts path first? I doubt it.

I don't know you, reader. I only know what I've written. I'm sure right now you're rolling your eyes, thinking that I'm just some pretentious teenager writing whatever dribble comes to mind. If I wrote whatever came to mind and didn't carefully reread and edit, this whole page would be riddle with typos and keyboard mashing. You don't know me in the same way I don't know you.

But this isn't about me or you or this website. This is about Kit and his descent into madness that you could have prevented. He's probably scared. I could just as easily write around this, pretend that this whole tirade didn't even happen. He can go back to being confused and going mad and trying to block out the voices. I think it's your choice, reader.

Just remember: every choice you make I wrote out for you. You have no control, but I guess that's just the edgelord in me getting out. Go on. Make a choice. Choose how this path ends.
> You want to pretend this didn't happen. Kit's gone insane, there's no way out but death.
Alright then, reader. Kit can't take it anymore. He kills himself. The end. I didn't want to write this. You're boring for picking this. Fuck you.
> You go back and make the right choice for you.
Are you gonna make the right choice?
> You want to pretend this didn't happen. Kit realizes that the voices are trying to help him and changes.
Fine then, reader. Kit realizes the voices are his friends and changes his ways. He lives happily ever after. The end. Go fuck yourself.
> You go back and make the right choice for you.
Just give in and make the right choice. No other option.
> You but this did happen. You want Kit to know.
Stubborn, aren't you? Took you long enough to make the right choice. Oh well, it doesn't matter. The point is you're here now, and I'm about to round out this ludicrous fourth wall break path.

Hey Kit.

You look around. This voice is... Different. It doesn't sound like anyone you know. "W-who are you?"

I'm the man who created you.

This causes you to jerk back. "What? You can't be! You're lying! Just leave me alone!"

I'm feeding you these words. This isn't a conversation between two people. This is me trying out an artistic experiment. People are going to rate me a 1 if they find this wannabe avant-garde bullshit path.

"You can't be telling the truth! I'm real! I'm as real as any man!" He can't be telling the truth. You're a real person. This is getting to you too much.

I'm not sure why you're in denial, Kit. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing you as in denial of this. I can make you do anything. I can make you dance if I want. Though I suppose that would fit better in a visual medium.

As if on command, you begin to hop up and down and wiggle around. It's a very entertaining sight, and the writer has stopped bothering with italicizing your actions. Because you know the truth, Kit. I created you. I can end you. I can take things back. Have you gone insane? That's for me and the reader to decide.

"What did you do to me?"

I got a prompt and I figured I could take this path in an interesting way. I was having trouble with this specific part of it. I remembered a comic I read once, Grant Morrison's Animal Man. It ended in a similar manner to this path: author and creation meeting each other. It touched me in a way I don't think any other story has, yet.

"You created me?"

Yeah, Kit. You're a figment of my imagination. If I want, I can hit delete on this story right now and you'd be gone forever. Just a shadow of what could have been in my mind. I've come close to wiping this story a few times. I wasn't sure I could ever complete it. I'm not sure if I ever wanted to. Writing this story has taught me a lot and I feel like once I finish it, I won't be learning anymore.

"Everything that happened to me... You did that?"

Yes, Kit. Your friends, they're not real. They're playthings. I've written a handful of lines for each of them. The only one that got any semblance of characterization was Lilith, the priest girl. Did you know that I went into this story without a name for any of them? I went into this story without a name for you, too. You were going to be Victor, once.

"What are you saying? Can't you turn everything back?"

Sure I can Kit, but it would be hollow. I'd go back to writing a story instead of rambling on incoherently, and it would end right as it got to the good part. That's how this entire story has gone; I have an idea, I write a few pages for it, I get bored, then I cut it off before it branches out too much. There's so many things in here that could make a full game, yet I only dedicate a handful of pages to those stories.

"Why can't you just stop that, then? Make everything as long as it needs to? Why couldn't you make a story about myself and my friends, let us choose our fates, let the reader choose our fates?"

Because that wasn't the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to be "edgy". I wanted to be "realistic". Cursing, and drinking, and violence, and a broken protagonist. You were never a hero, Kit. In fact, I could say that you killed countless men and women, and no one would bat an eye. They'd want to play as you more, if anything. The people here are drawn to villains.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

Me? I don't know. I'm writing this because I'm bored. Later I'm probably going to eat breakfast and pass out. Maybe watch a movie. Go for a walk. Something. But right now, it's me, and you, and the reader. I haven't forgotten you, reader. Why don't you exercise your "free will" and decide how this story ends for me, huh?
> You give Kit his friends back.
Okay, reader. I'll give Kit a happy ending. I'll take away everything. Everything is back to normal now. Maybe someday I'll write a prequel. You might see me again there, watching, waiting, laughing at you and your "free will". You don't make the choices. I do.

The light of the sun beats down upon your face through your window. Groggily, you push yourself up and scratch your head. Working in the fields all day has been killing your back lately, but you'd do anything for mother after father died. As you're pondering your predicament, you feel a splash of water hit you in the head from the window. A shout of shock escapes your lips.

You hear laughter from outside. "That wake you up, Kit?" a girl chuckles. Torn between amusement and anger, you get up and jump through the window. Grace sits there, laughing at your soaked form, while you glare angrily at her.

"The hell was that for? I was gonna wake up eventually!" you grunt, annoyed.

"Sure you were! Come on farmboy, it's your day off. Let's go meet with the others!" She takes your hand without another word, and you find your anger slipping away as she guides you to your friends. Life is good, and you've got all of it ahead of you. Nothing can stop you.

But time will tell if you can put an end to the evil on the rise...

THE BEGINNING


Stubborn, aren't you? Took you long enough to make the right choice. Oh well, it doesn't matter. The point is you're here now, and I'm about to round out this ludicrous fourth wall break path.

Hey Kit.

You look around. This voice is... Different. It doesn't sound like anyone you know. "W-who are you?"

I'm the man who created you.

This causes you to jerk back. "What? You can't be! You're lying! Just leave me alone!"

I'm feeding you these words. This isn't a conversation between two people. This is me trying out an artistic experiment. People are going to rate me a 1 if they find this wannabe avant-garde bullshit path.

"You can't be telling the truth! I'm real! I'm as real as any man!" He can't be telling the truth. You're a real person. This is getting to you too much.

I'm not sure why you're in denial, Kit. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing you as in denial of this. I can make you do anything. I can make you dance if I want. Though I suppose that would fit better in a visual medium.

As if on command, you begin to hop up and down and wiggle around. It's a very entertaining sight, and the writer has stopped bothering with italicizing your actions. Because you know the truth, Kit. I created you. I can end you. I can take things back. Have you gone insane? That's for me and the reader to decide.

"What did you do to me?"

I got a prompt and I figured I could take this path in an interesting way. I was having trouble with this specific part of it. I remembered a comic I read once, Grant Morrison's Animal Man. It ended in a similar manner to this path: author and creation meeting each other. It touched me in a way I don't think any other story has, yet.

"You created me?"

Yeah, Kit. You're a figment of my imagination. If I want, I can hit delete on this story right now and you'd be gone forever. Just a shadow of what could have been in my mind. I've come close to wiping this story a few times. I wasn't sure I could ever complete it. I'm not sure if I ever wanted to. Writing this story has taught me a lot and I feel like once I finish it, I won't be learning anymore.

"Everything that happened to me... You did that?"

Yes, Kit. Your friends, they're not real. They're playthings. I've written a handful of lines for each of them. The only one that got any semblance of characterization was Lilith, the priest girl. Did you know that I went into this story without a name for any of them? I went into this story without a name for you, too. You were going to be Victor, once.

"What are you saying? Can't you turn everything back?"

Sure I can Kit, but it would be hollow. I'd go back to writing a story instead of rambling on incoherently, and it would end right as it got to the good part. That's how this entire story has gone; I have an idea, I write a few pages for it, I get bored, then I cut it off before it branches out too much. There's so many things in here that could make a full game, yet I only dedicate a handful of pages to those stories.

"Why can't you just stop that, then? Make everything as long as it needs to? Why couldn't you make a story about myself and my friends, let us choose our fates, let the reader choose our fates?"

Because that wasn't the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to be "edgy". I wanted to be "realistic". Cursing, and drinking, and violence, and a broken protagonist. You were never a hero, Kit. In fact, I could say that you killed countless men and women, and no one would bat an eye. They'd want to play as you more, if anything. The people here are drawn to villains.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

Me? I don't know. I'm writing this because I'm bored. Later I'm probably going to eat breakfast and pass out. Maybe watch a movie. Go for a walk. Something. But right now, it's me, and you, and the reader. I haven't forgotten you, reader. Why don't you exercise your "free will" and decide how this story ends for me, huh?
> You fuck you. You don't have to do this. You can close this game right now if you want. You don't even have to click this choice. You can't make you do anything.
If you really felt that way, you wouldn't have clicked the choice.

Now take your end game link and get out of here.


You snap yourself back to reality, before you can lose yourself to the madness. Truly, you must be losing your mind. No sane man would break into a fit of laughter like you did, let alone hear voices calling to him in the dead of night. Your mind reaches for answers as to what the hell is going on, but it is met by silence.

There is something hanging over you, however. Some sort of entity guiding your actions, predetermining your paths and setting you on one or the other. You can feel the mouse hovering over you, watching, waiting for that next blue hyperlink to show up. I wonder if they're reading this. And if they are, I wonder what their thoughts are on what I'm writing. I'm going on a tangent. You probably think I'm just trying to cash in on the success some people had in 'connecting' with the reader in their own stories, don't you? The truth is, I don't know why this page turned out like it did.

Do you think the people reading this will ever find this path? Maybe they're skimming over all these words, trying to find an end game link. Maybe they're completionists and are trying to find every ending. The odds of this being the first path that a player finds is slim. There's other, more exciting paths out there, aren't there? So many different paths this story could have taken and they choose the stay at home and go nuts path first? I doubt it.

I don't know you, reader. I only know what I've written. I'm sure right now you're rolling your eyes, thinking that I'm just some pretentious teenager writing whatever dribble comes to mind. If I wrote whatever came to mind and didn't carefully reread and edit, this whole page would be riddle with typos and keyboard mashing. You don't know me in the same way I don't know you.

But this isn't about me or you or this website. This is about Kit and his descent into madness that you could have prevented. He's probably scared. I could just as easily write around this, pretend that this whole tirade didn't even happen. He can go back to being confused and going mad and trying to block out the voices. I think it's your choice, reader.

Just remember: every choice you make I wrote out for you. You have no control, but I guess that's just the edgelord in me getting out. Go on. Make a choice. Choose how this path ends.
> You but this did happen. You want Kit to know.
So you picked this on your first try? Maybe you just used the actual go back button instead of the one I gave you on either of those two choices. Oh well, it doesn't matter. The point is you're here now, and I'm about to round out this ludicrous fourth wall break path.

Hey Kit.

You look around. This voice is... Different. It doesn't sound like anyone you know. "W-who are you?"

I'm the man who created you.

This causes you to jerk back. "What? You can't be! You're lying! Just leave me alone!"

I'm feeding you these words. This isn't a conversation between two people. This is me trying out an artistic experiment. People are going to rate me a 1 if they find this wannabe avant-garde bullshit path.

"You can't be telling the truth! I'm real! I'm as real as any man!" He can't be telling the truth. You're a real person. This is getting to you too much.

I'm not sure why you're in denial, Kit. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing you as in denial of this. I can make you do anything. I can make you dance if I want. Though I suppose that would fit better in a visual medium.

As if on command, you begin to hop up and down and wiggle around. It's a very entertaining sight, and the writer has stopped bothering with italicizing your actions. Because you know the truth, Kit. I created you. I can end you. I can take things back. Have you gone insane? That's for me and the reader to decide.

"What did you do to me?"

I got a prompt and I figured I could take this path in an interesting way. I was having trouble with this specific part of it. I remembered a comic I read once, Grant Morrison's Animal Man. It ended in a similar manner to this path: author and creation meeting each other. It touched me in a way I don't think any other story has, yet.

"You created me?"

Yeah, Kit. You're a figment of my imagination. If I want, I can hit delete on this story right now and you'd be gone forever. Just a shadow of what could have been in my mind. I've come close to wiping this story a few times. I wasn't sure I could ever complete it. I'm not sure if I ever wanted to. Writing this story has taught me a lot and I feel like once I finish it, I won't be learning anymore.

"Everything that happened to me... You did that?"

Yes, Kit. Your friends, they're not real. They're playthings. I've written a handful of lines for each of them. The only one that got any semblance of characterization was Lilith, the priest girl. Did you know that I went into this story without a name for any of them? I went into this story without a name for you, too. You were going to be Victor, once.

"What are you saying? Can't you turn everything back?"

Sure I can Kit, but it would be hollow. I'd go back to writing a story instead of rambling on incoherently, and it would end right as it got to the good part. That's how this entire story has gone; I have an idea, I write a few pages for it, I get bored, then I cut it off before it branches out too much. There's so many things in here that could make a full game, yet I only dedicate a handful of pages to those stories.

"Why can't you just stop that, then? Make everything as long as it needs to? Why couldn't you make a story about myself and my friends, let us choose our fates, let the reader choose our fates?"

Because that wasn't the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to be "edgy". I wanted to be "realistic". Cursing, and drinking, and violence, and a broken protagonist. You were never a hero, Kit. In fact, I could say that you killed countless men and women, and no one would bat an eye. They'd want to play as you more, if anything. The people here are drawn to villains.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

Me? I don't know. I'm writing this because I'm bored. Later I'm probably going to eat breakfast and pass out. Maybe watch a movie. Go for a walk. Something. But right now, it's me, and you, and the reader. I haven't forgotten you, reader. Why don't you exercise your "free will" and decide how this story ends for me, huh?


You scoff at the idea of leaving your home. The king says he'll send men your way if you don't respond? Oh, please. You can fend off any pansies he sends your way. Though you're getting up there in years, you can still fight with the strength of a hundred soldiers.

With that, you resolve to continue on as you've been doing. For the next few days, you don't do much; you get your bread and wine from Bertrand, drink until you black out, then do it again. It continues this way until, finally, a week has passed since the letter.

You've almost forgotten about it when Bertrand enters your room at around midday. He's already brought you your bread and wine, so you're not sure why he'd come here. His expression is a mask of worry and fear. "Explain yourself," you say, and Bertrand nods with a gulp.

"The king has sent his men here, sir. They're here to take you away to Castle Oren." Bertrand is looking very afraid.

"Send them away."

"What?"

"I said send them away. I don't wish to entertain them."

"But sir..."
> You fine. If Bertrand is so hesitant, you'll do it yourself.
"Fine," you grunt. "I'll do it myself." Of course Bertrand can't get them out of here. They're the king's men with an order to get you, not some con man looking to sell you cheap wares at an inflated price. He's never had to do this to someone who has good reason to come in, and it scares him. You understand, somewhat.

For the first time in ages, you leave the master bedroom and walk the halls of your manor, Bertrand following after you. It's been well kept by your servants, for the odd occasion that someone comes to visit. The fine paintings adorning the walls are flawless and their frames clean of dust, the walls are painted a regal blue, and lanterns hung on the ceiling keep the place well lit.

You walk out to the courtyard to greet the king's men. A lone tree sits in the center of the courtyard on a circular patch of grass, surrounded by a cobblestone path. A series of bushes encompass the manor itself, giving the entire courtyard a reserved, tidy appearance. The knights are sitting in wait and look up when you approach. One stands and walks over to you.

He removes his helmet, revealing a youthful yet stern face. His sandy blond hair is cut short, and his green eyes burn a hole into your own grey ones. He gives you a salute, then speaks, "Good day, Sir Kit. I am Miller, of the Gold Hawk Knights. We've come here to take you with us to Castle Oren."
> You shake your head. "Afraid I won't oblige your request. Now leave."
Miller scowls at your calm request for him to leave. "I'm afraid I can't, Sir Kit. Please, come with us. I won't ask again." You can feel your anger flaring up, and for a moment you wish you had brought your sword to cut this bastard down.

"You listen to me, Miller," you growl, hissing his name out like it's an insult. "I want to live in peace. You take your Gold Hawk Knights and get out of here. Leave me be."

He shakes his head. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. Knights, apprehend Sir Kit." The two knights flanking Miller approach you, attempting to grab you. On instinct, you fight back, delivering a hook to one's face and causing him to stumble back towards Miller. The other quickly draws his sword and swings, but you duck under it and disarm him. With the longsword in hand, you quickly stab him in the chest.

Blood pours out of his wound as you push him to the ground. You blink, suddenly realizing what you just did. Miller and the other knight look at you and their dying comrade in shock. Miller and his ally draw their own swords, pointing them at you. "You're under arrest, murderer! Surrender or our blades will taste your blood!"
> You didn't mean to do that... You can't believe... You surrender willingly. You deserve whatever fate awaits.
You're in as much shock as the two knights. Quickly, you drop the sword and raise your hands. Miller approaches you, rage written on his face, and hits you in the face with the pommel of his sword. Instantly, darkness takes you. The last thing you hear before you slip into unconsciousness is Miller telling his comrade, "Tie him up and get him in the wagon. Take Edward's corpse."

When you wake up, you're face down on a cold stone floor. Pushing yourself up, you look around and see Miller not far from you. Seperating the two of you is a row of iron bars. "Miller," you say. "What is the meaning of this?"

He sighs, pulling up a wooden chair and sitting down. "You should be thankful you're not on the chopping block. The king's respect for you is the only reason you're still alive. If you were any other man, your head would roll for killing a knight."

You don't respond. The weight of what you did hits you full force in that moment. Because of it, you're going to rot here.

"There will be no trial. If anything, you being in this cell is to protect you. The Gold Hawk Knights are furious." Miller stands, pushing the chair back. "Farewell, Kit."

Miller heads to the door and shuts it, leaving you to your isolation. It's the last time you ever see him.

For the next few years, your only human contact is when a guard comes in to deliver you some food. At first it's a nice break in the monotony of being alone in your cell, but soon it becomes part of the routine. Even when you try to strike up a conversation, the guard ignores you and just gives you your food. It's a lonely life.

Eventually, the meals decrease in frequency, until one day you realize that it's been a week since you had food. You begin to yell, hoping to grab a guard's attention and get some food, but no one comes. Another week passes and you find yourself barely clinging onto what little life you have. The lack of food has been effecting you greatly, and the only water you can get is from drops of rain that come through your little window.

When three weeks pass, you finally die. A guard comes the next day to remove your corpse. He drops it into a wagon of similar corpses, where you're sent off to be incinerated. A criminal such as yourself doesn't deserve a proper burial anyhow.

THE END


Miller scowls at your calm request for him to leave. "I'm afraid I can't, Sir Kit. Please, come with us. I won't ask again." You can feel your anger flaring up, and for a moment you wish you had brought your sword to cut this bastard down.

"You listen to me, Miller," you growl, hissing his name out like it's an insult. "I want to live in peace. You take your Gold Hawk Knights and get out of here. Leave me be."

He shakes his head. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. Knights, apprehend Sir Kit." The two knights flanking Miller approach you, attempting to grab you. On instinct, you fight back, delivering a hook to one's face and causing him to stumble back towards Miller. The other quickly draws his sword and swings, but you duck under it and disarm him. With the longsword in hand, you quickly stab him in the chest.

Blood pours out of his wound as you push him to the ground. You blink, suddenly realizing what you just did. Miller and the other knight look at you and their dying comrade in shock. Miller and his ally draw their own swords, pointing them at you. "You're under arrest, murderer! Surrender or our blades will taste your blood!"
> You can't go down like this. You'll tell them to leave again, and if that doesn't work, you'll attack.
No. You can't let them take you like this. Standing there with bloody sword raised, you speak slowly, "I don't want to have to kill you both. Leave now and never return." There's a tense moment for a while as you stare at the two of them and they stare back. They're too scared to make the first move, and you don't want to make it. The standoff lasts for a moment longer, then...

"Oh screw this!" Miller's ally yells, before rushing at you with a shout of rage. He swings his sword, which you easily deflect, then duck down for a sweeping slash that cuts through his abdomen. Clutching his wound, he collapses to the ground, writhing and moaning in agony as he slowly bleeds out. Miller stays back, examining you.

"Your buddy won't die with that wound. It'll take a few days for him to bleed out all the way. Take him and go, if you know what's good for you," you say, giving Miller his last warning. Miller looks down at his companion, as though considering it. Then he shifts his gaze back to you, looking more furious than ever.

"I won't let you walk free you bastard." With those words, he advances towards you. The two of you clash blades for a while, and whenever one of you tries to go for an opening the other blocks or parries. You're not as good with longswords as Miller is, specializing more in greatswords and their overwhelming force, but you're too stubborn to let him beat you.

In the end, that stubbornness is what grants you victory. While Miller has been tiring, you've only been attacking more and more ferociously. Eventually, his defense slips, and you slide your blade right into his chest. His face morphs into a mask of pure shock as he drops his sword. He stares at you in fear, which quickly shifts to anger. He pushes himself forward, forcing the sword deeper into his body, while reaching out for your neck. His hands squeeze against your throat, at first tightly, then slowly weakening in strength until they fall limp.

As his eyes close, you pull the blade out of him and let his corpse fall to the floor. His ally is still on the ground begging for death. You grant him the pleasure, holding his head down and sliding the blade into the base of his skull. He twitches slightly, then goes limp. You stand and consider what you just did.

You could just as easily burn the bodies and head back inside, but there's no way the king would allow this. He could send more knights, perhaps far more than you could handle. On the other hand, there's the option to use this to spark a rebellion among the people. Though the king is far from tyrannical, there's enough dissent from the long-lasting war against the Empire of Kishak for the common people to attempt an uprising. With how much the people love you for your deeds, they'd join you in a rebellion in a heartbeat.
> You can't count on the goodwill you have built up. You're going to just wait this out.
You can't be bothered to try something that stupid. The king has well trained knights and soldiers under his command; if you put together a rebellion, it would be destroyed as quickly as you build it up. Instead of deciding to go on a pointless endeavor such as that, you begin to gather the bodies up in a pile. You cover them in dried sticks and leaves, then start a fire. As soon as it's gotten large enough to engulf the bodies, you return into your home. The servants watch as you head to your room in mingled awe and terror, unsure of how to act around you. You head into your room, lay in bed and sleep the rest of the day away.

In the morning Bertrand comes with your bread and wine, looking a bit more cautious after what happened yesterday. You take it, send him out of the room, and spend the rest of the day eating and drinking as you always have. The next day, Bertrand comes in the morning with the bread and wine, which you take and spend the rest of the day eating and drinking. It continues on for weeks without interruption, until one day, something changes.

You wake in the early morning hours to a yell. Your head is pounding and your stomach is killing you, but you push through and get out of bed. Stumbling out of your room, you see a man slumped against the wall: Bertrand. "Bertrand!" you shout, running to him. As you get closer, however, you notice the blood trailing down his neck. It flows freely from a fierce red slash across his throat. Bertrand is dead.

You look around, wondering who in the hell did this to your servant, when you feel a sharp pain in your arm. Looking, you find that a crossbow bolt has embedded itself into your bicep. "W-what the hell!?" you choke out. Another bolt flies true, hitting your thigh and causing you to fall to a kneel. Footsteps approach from your left, and you turn your head to look. What you see is a man, dressed in black. He approaches you, pulling out a dagger.

"Who are you?" you ask.

He simply sticks the dagger to your throat and cuts. As you fall to the ground, vision darkening and lungs filling with blood, he speaks: "The king sends his regards."

Then, all is silent.

THE END


No. You can't let them take you like this. Standing there with bloody sword raised, you speak slowly, "I don't want to have to kill you both. Leave now and never return." There's a tense moment for a while as you stare at the two of them and they stare back. They're too scared to make the first move, and you don't want to make it. The standoff lasts for a moment longer, then...

"Oh screw this!" Miller's ally yells, before rushing at you with a shout of rage. He swings his sword, which you easily deflect, then duck down for a sweeping slash that cuts through his abdomen. Clutching his wound, he collapses to the ground, writhing and moaning in agony as he slowly bleeds out. Miller stays back, examining you.

"Your buddy won't die with that wound. It'll take a few days for him to bleed out all the way. Take him and go, if you know what's good for you," you say, giving Miller his last warning. Miller looks down at his companion, as though considering it. Then he shifts his gaze back to you, looking more furious than ever.

"I won't let you walk free you bastard." With those words, he advances towards you. The two of you clash blades for a while, and whenever one of you tries to go for an opening the other blocks or parries. You're not as good with longswords as Miller is, specializing more in greatswords and their overwhelming force, but you're too stubborn to let him beat you.

In the end, that stubbornness is what grants you victory. While Miller has been tiring, you've only been attacking more and more ferociously. Eventually, his defense slips, and you slide your blade right into his chest. His face morphs into a mask of pure shock as he drops his sword. He stares at you in fear, which quickly shifts to anger. He pushes himself forward, forcing the sword deeper into his body, while reaching out for your neck. His hands squeeze against your throat, at first tightly, then slowly weakening in strength until they fall limp.

As his eyes close, you pull the blade out of him and let his corpse fall to the floor. His ally is still on the ground begging for death. You grant him the pleasure, holding his head down and sliding the blade into the base of his skull. He twitches slightly, then goes limp. You stand and consider what you just did.

You could just as easily burn the bodies and head back inside, but there's no way the king would allow this. He could send more knights, perhaps far more than you could handle. On the other hand, there's the option to use this to spark a rebellion among the people. Though the king is far from tyrannical, there's enough dissent from the long-lasting war against the Empire of Kishak for the common people to attempt an uprising. With how much the people love you for your deeds, they'd join you in a rebellion in a heartbeat.
> You damn waiting in fear. You'll tear this kingdom down, and the people will help you do it.
You look at the corpses you just created and release a heaving sigh. There's not much else you can do now. The king will have your head for this either way, so you figure you might as well take more than a handful of knights down with you. This is the dumbest thing you've done in a while, and you've done a lot of dumb things in your life.

You load the corpses up into the carriage they came in, then hurry back into your house to retrieve your sword and get into some more fitting traveler's clothes. As you stride through the halls of your home, the servants watch you warily, as if fearing that they may meet your blade next. You ignore them, ascending the stairs to your master bedroom and begin loading up. Once you're all done, you flip your cloak over your shoulder and walk out the door. The nearest town, a large village by the name of Everseed, is about half an hour away by horseback.

Taking a seat in the carriage, you kick the horses in gear and ride to the town. The ride down the country road is quiet and peaceful, the best that can be expected. You know that it will be the last time for a while you get to relax and unwind.

When you arrive in town, you stop the carriage in the most active place in town; in this case, the market. The people watch you curiously as you step off the carriage and approach a fountain in the center of the market. There, you raise your voice and speak, "Everyone! My name is Sir Kit of Droburg, the man who slayed the vile wizard that plagued our lands twenty years ago!" This gets all eyes on you as you approach the back of the cart again.

"And these," you pull the cover of the cart off, revealing the three dead knights to the people. They gasp in shock, some moving to weapons in case they need to attack you. "These are three knights that the king sent to kill me. The lengths this man has gone to, trying to kill a hero such as myself. What has our kingdom come to?" You're bending the truth, a lot, but these people are eating it up. The villagers that went for weapons are looking furious, while the others left unarmed grab for makeshift weapons as well.

"That bastard king! He's been taxing us so hard we barely have enough to pay for food!" one villager pipes up from the crowd.

"He drafted my son into the war and he died! My boy was only 15!" a woman cries out.

"He's been doin' nothin' but tearin' us down and buildin' himself up!" a farmer yells from the back.

"And now, my friends, he's trying to kill the last true hero in this kingdom. A man like this must be stopped, once and for all. For the true Kingdom of Oren, we must eliminate this tyrant!" you shout, and the crowd answers with cheers and battle cries. Now, you have an army. You're not sure how this will end, but wherever it leads, the kingdom will be changed forever...

THE END


"Fine," you grunt. "I'll do it myself." Of course Bertrand can't get them out of here. They're the king's men with an order to get you, not some con man looking to sell you cheap wares at an inflated price. He's never had to do this to someone who has good reason to come in, and it scares him. You understand, somewhat.

For the first time in ages, you leave the master bedroom and walk the halls of your manor, Bertrand following after you. It's been well kept by your servants, for the odd occasion that someone comes to visit. The fine paintings adorning the walls are flawless and their frames clean of dust, the walls are painted a regal blue, and lanterns hung on the ceiling keep the place well lit.

You walk out to the courtyard to greet the king's men. A lone tree sits in the center of the courtyard on a circular patch of grass, surrounded by a cobblestone path. A series of bushes encompass the manor itself, giving the entire courtyard a reserved, tidy appearance. The knights are sitting in wait and look up when you approach. One stands and walks over to you.

He removes his helmet, revealing a youthful yet stern face. His sandy blond hair is cut short, and his green eyes burn a hole into your own grey ones. He gives you a salute, then speaks, "Good day, Sir Kit. I am Miller, of the Gold Hawk Knights. We've come here to take you with us to Castle Oren."
> You considering it, you sigh and nod. "Fine. I'll go with you to Castle Oren."
Miller smiles at you, nodding at your answer. "I'm glad to hear it, sir. Go, gather your things and we'll head straight for Castle Oren." You nod at his request, quickly heading back inside and packing what you need. You make sure to grab your sword as well, as you know you'll need it.

When you exit the manor, you and the three Gold Hawk Knights enter their wagon and begin the ride to Castle Oren. You end up having to stop for the night, but in the morning you continue on to finish the last stretch. You arrive at Castle Oren around lunch time. The castle is large and imposing, made of stone that has gathered a fair bit of moss over the years. It was built a thousand years before your time, and still stands after all this time with only minor renovations to keep it up. A town surrounds the castle, full of shops and inns and homes and other assorted buildings. People mill about, paying you no mind as the wagon rolls up to the castle gates.

The guards there stand at attention, waiting for you to make a move. Miller nods to them, and they move to open up the gates. The wagon rides into the castle ground proper. Inside the castle grounds, the knights park their wagon and you all hop off. Miller stands beside you. "When can I see the King?" you ask.

"Come along, I'll take you to him." Miller walks away. You follow closely behind, examining the castle grounds. The courtyard leading into the castle is home to many trees and flowers, a few of which you've never even seen. The King's gardeners must take their work very seriously.

You head into the castle proper, in an entrance hall that doubles as a throne room. The King is nowhere in sight, and Miller continues on past the throne and to a door not far from it. As you step into the room, you see a man in fine clothing sitting at a desk. The desk houses a golden crown. The King is around his mid thirties, though the wrinkles in his face and the gray streaking his hair indicates a man at least a decade older.

"Your highness. Sir Kit has arrived," Miller says. The King looks up from his writing at you, and gives a faint smile. He waves Miller off, and the young knight departs from the room.

"Sir Kit. It is an honor to finally meet you." The King stands from the desk and approaches you. He's only a bit shorter than you, impressive considering your bulky stature, though his posture and build indicates he's never been a fight before. He sticks out a hand for you to shake, which you do.

"The honor is all mine, your highness," you say, though rather half-heartedly.

The King laughs. "Let's skip the formalities. Call me Walter. We're not here to discuss something officially." His face darkens. "I called you here because I need someone to weaken the Kishak Empire, so that my army can strike the final blow against them."

"I see."

"I need someone who doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, Sir Kit. I need a warrior such as you. I take it whatever you face on this mission will be enough for you to handle, and I'll be sending you backup anyhow."

"What's this mission you're sending me on?"

"My spies in Kishak have uncovered the location of the Empire's supply cache: in the heart of their capital city. If you can destroy the supply cache, there goes all of the Kishak army's food, weapons, and gunpowder. They'd be running on what they have left, and soon enough that would run out and my men would be able to drive them back."

"... This sounds like a suicide mission."

The King nods slowly. "Perhaps. But if you manage to see this mission through, the war will be won by next year. Would you not want to see an end to this war that has claimed so many lives? An end to a war your grandfathers would have fought in, and your grandchildren will fight in if it doesn't end?"

You shake your head, chuckling. "You're wrong there. My grandfathers were simple farmers, and I don't have children. This war means nothing to me."

"Maybe it doesn't. But think of the millions of lives that have been lost to it, and the millions of lives you will save by ending it."

You sigh. At the very least, this is something to do.

"Fine. Let's get prepped for this suicide mission."
> You continue
You spend the rest of the day in the castle, resting up and mentally preparing yourself for your mission. The King's servants bring you whatever you wish, and in this case, it's more alcohol so you can psych yourself up. Liquid courage and all that. By nightfall, you're as drunk as can be, staring silently at a wall as you usually do.
"Stop doing this."
"Well what do you want me to do?" you mumble, replying to no one.
"Anything else."
A chuckle escapes your lips. "Really? I guess you'd prefer me going on a drunken rampage and slaughtering all the guards."
"That's not what I meant, Kit."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I meant you need to stop drinking. It's not doing you any good."
"Of course it's not doing me any good if I'm having a conversation with myself."
"You know who I am."
"Quit lying. You're just a figment of my imagination I start hearing when I get too wasted."
"Please, Kit. For me."
"Buzz off." You throw the empty bottle of wine in your hand at the wall, then crawl into bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, and you need your sleep.

In the morning, you're woken up by a knock on your door. You get up, groaning slightly, and head for it. When you open it, Miller stands before you. "The King sent me to wake you. We're leaving today."

"We?" you ask.

"He asked me to accompany you, along with a mage in our military. A small enough team to get behind Kishak lines unnoticed, and hopefully enough to provide backup should you need it."

You nod, heading to the dresser to grab some clothes. Miller turns away so you can get dressed, yet you still speak to him. "So what are you going to bring to the table?" you ask as you slide into a pair of breeches.

"I was knighted at twenty-one, the youngest man to be knighted... Aside from yourself, of course. For the past seven years I have served the Royal Family, and have led many knights to victory against Kishak forces."

"Hrm. How good are you with a sword?" You put on your boots and pick out a shirt.

"I've never lost a one-on-one sword fight, sir. I have also managed to take down ten men at once with only minor injuries."

"This bodes well then." You finish your ensemble by sliding on a tunic. "Alright then. Let's get going." Miller turns to face you then nods. He allows you to grab your sword and hook it onto your back, then leads you to where you'll depart.

You head through several hallways before Miller stops in front of a bookcase. He taps on it once, pauses, taps twice, pauses, taps once, pauses, then taps three ties in quick succession. The bookcase opens slowly, and he leads you through a secret passage. A whistle escapes your lips. "How fancy."

"Indeed."

Miller continues leading you through the tunnel for what seems like half an hour before you come out the other side. You're in a clearing, about a mile out from the Castle, where a wagon and two people wait for you. You're not far from Kishak now, only a few more miles until the border.

One of the two people, a woman about a year younger than Miller, steps forward. She eyes you up and down, and looks unimpressed. "This is the legendary hero who saved our city? He looks like a drunk and smells like one too." You give her a quick glare.

"Hold your tongue, Iris. If it weren't for this man, we wouldn't be here talking today," the other person says, an older man who is checking the horses. You shift your glare to him. It wasn't just you.

"Please. This man had backup even then. Did you only hear the children's tales, Oliver?" the woman, Iris, asks. "If it weren't for his friends, I'm sure he'd have died not far into his journey." Well, at least she has her facts straight.

"Both of you, shut your damn mouths," you say, stepping forward. "Whatever your thoughts on me are, I'm the real deal, and we're here to finish a war." You turn to the man, Oliver. "I assume you're our driver?"

"Aye, I am. I'll take you as far as the border. There, you'll be on your own. Kishak's capital, Ornislov, is only a couple miles out. You should reach there in no time if you stay off the roads and don't stop for anything."

"Right," you nod. You head towards the wagon, motioning for Miller and Iris to follow you. "Come on. Don't have all day." You climb into back, and they follow. After a moment, the wagon begins moving towards the border. You stay silent for a moment, assessing Iris, before speaking up. "I did this with Miller so you should be no different: what are you bringing to the table?"

Iris scoffs. "I spent my whole life training at the Academy in Loren. I enlisted with the military when I came of age, and I've seen my fair share of battles. I can also speak fluent Kishak, so if you need a translation just ask me."

"That'll come in handy. How quick are you at casting?"

"I can get a fireball off before you can blink."

"Good enough for me." You pause, then consider something. "How'd you know about my friends? There's not exactly much documentation on the real story."

"You five passed through Loren twenty years ago, right? You helped the Academy secure a magical artifact while you were in the area."

"... Yeah, we were. What about it?"

"I was there. I was about seven at the time, and got to meet one of your friends. The mage woman."

Your face darkens. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. She was nice. Told me about the quest you all were on, even gave me pointers on how to be a good mage." A faint smile appears on Iris' face as she recalls your friend, Grace. "Even told me not to fall for some jarheaded fighter boy. I think it's obvious who she was talking about." Her smile shifts to a frown. "A shame what happened to her... I know I was being rude, but I want you to know that I am sorry for your lo-"

"Can it. I don't want your sympathy."

Iris glares at you, before shaking her head slightly and averting her gaze. The rest of the ride is silent, and before long the wagon stops. Oliver's voice pipes up from the front, "There's a gap here between the outposts. If you keep pushing through the fields you should reach some woods, head through there and just keep going forward. Eventually, you'll get to Ornislov."

"Right," you say, climbing out of the wagon. Miller and Iris join you, and you see the wagon off as Oliver turns it around and begins driving back.

You're beginning the march to the forest when Miller stops you. "I know a way to Ornislov that's faster, and bypasses the forest. However, it's much riskier and involves traveling out in the open. If we're lucky we'll get there much quicker."

You consider it. Miller warns that it's risky, but you're used to high risks. Maybe this path is worth a try?
> You say "Fine, let's take your path. Be ready to fight, just in case."
Miller nods, then takes the lead. He begins heading southeast instead of the east you were expecting. "If keep heading this way, then go around the forest and keep heading east, we'll get to Ornislov faster. I know a way in."

You quirk an eyebrow. "You know a way in?"

Miller nods solemnly. "I was sent there on a covert mission a few months. It's how we found out about the supply cache. Most of my team died, but I managed to escape." You nod at Miller's response, and continue following him. The sun is high in the sky, and on the horizon you can see Kishak troops marching. They wouldn't be able to spot you from here, but still, Miller gets down low. You and Iris follow his lead.

"Keep low, stick to the tall grass. If we're quiet enough, they won't stop us," Miller warns, then continues walking slowly. The process continues on, and after what feels like hours but must have been only ten minutes or so, the Kishak soldiers are long gone. Your team releases a collective sigh of relief and stands, continuing on at a much faster pace...

... That is, until a bolt flies into your shoulder. You shout a curse in pain, then dive straight for the ground. Your companions follow suit. "Are you okay, Sir Kit?" Miller hisses urgently. You wave him off, then grip the bolt. You pull it out, slowly to ensure you don't tear any muscles, and let out a sigh of relief when it's out.

Iris scowls. "Great thinking, Miller. You've just gotten us all killed."

"Damn it, keep quiet!" Miller hisses.

"Both of you, shut up and let me think," you say. There's two options here: you can either run for the woods, exposing yourselves for a bit before getting to adequate cover, or you can sneak forward and attempt to take out the archer. Either way, you're putting great risk on you and your team.
> You run for the woods, it's the only way to ensure your safety.
"We run for the woods and don't fucking stop. You two hear me?" you ask. Miller and Iris nod, rather hesitantly. "Alright. Good. Wait for my mark..." You peek your head up slowly, above the tall grass. The lone archer kneels on the road, about forty yards away, and watches slowly. You wait until he's looking away from your current position, then nod. "Now!"

The three of you pull yourselves up and begin running for the woods. A few bolts fly past you, but none manage to hit you. You keep running, until you hear a shout behind you. Whipping around quickly, you see a bolt has managed to catch Iris right in the back, and she's fallen to the ground. "Go, dammit!" she shouts, pulling herself along. "I'll be fine!"

"Don't you die on me!" Miller shouts, and moves to help her up. He gets a bolt through the neck for his troubles, and collapses to the ground. With no other options, you continue sprinting to the woods as fast as you can. You hear a shout from Iris, presumably having another bolt hit her, then another which is cut short.

Your companions are dead. Again. And this time, it really is your fault. You suddenly find yourself stopping in place, no far from the edge of the woods. This bastard took out both of your allies just as you were beginning your quest. And by God, there's no way you're going to let him get away with it.

You unhook your sword from its chain on your back, and with a primal yell rush his position. Bolts fly your way, but it doesn't matter. He's going to die. Maybe you will, too, but his head will roll before yours does.

You raise your sword to deflect any bolts coming your way, and before long you're right up in his face. He fires a bolt which hits your gut, but doesn't have time to reload as you slam your sword into his shoulder, cleaving him in half. That takes care of that.

You drop to your knees and pull the bolt out of your stomach with a grunt of pain. The sounds of many men running hits your ears, and you turn your head to see the soldiers from before marching right for you. A ferocious grin spreads across your face. This is one way to go out, at least.

You raise your sword and meet their charge head on.

THE END


Miller nods, then takes the lead. He begins heading southeast instead of the east you were expecting. "If keep heading this way, then go around the forest and keep heading east, we'll get to Ornislov faster. I know a way in."

You quirk an eyebrow. "You know a way in?"

Miller nods solemnly. "I was sent there on a covert mission a few months. It's how we found out about the supply cache. Most of my team died, but I managed to escape." You nod at Miller's response, and continue following him. The sun is high in the sky, and on the horizon you can see Kishak troops marching. They wouldn't be able to spot you from here, but still, Miller gets down low. You and Iris follow his lead.

"Keep low, stick to the tall grass. If we're quiet enough, they won't stop us," Miller warns, then continues walking slowly. The process continues on, and after what feels like hours but must have been only ten minutes or so, the Kishak soldiers are long gone. Your team releases a collective sigh of relief and stands, continuing on at a much faster pace...

... That is, until a bolt flies into your shoulder. You shout a curse in pain, then dive straight for the ground. Your companions follow suit. "Are you okay, Sir Kit?" Miller hisses urgently. You wave him off, then grip the bolt. You pull it out, slowly to ensure you don't tear any muscles, and let out a sigh of relief when it's out.

Iris scowls. "Great thinking, Miller. You've just gotten us all killed."

"Damn it, keep quiet!" Miller hisses.

"Both of you, shut up and let me think," you say. There's two options here: you can either run for the woods, exposing yourselves for a bit before getting to adequate cover, or you can sneak forward and attempt to take out the archer. Either way, you're putting great risk on you and your team.
> You go for the archer, take him out before he alerts the others.
"It's just a lone sniper out there, waiting. If there were more, they'd be firing volleys of bolts and arrows right at us. I'm going to sneak ahead and try to take that archer down. You two stay here and keep your heads down." Your companions nod slowly, still unsure of the plan. You poke your head up a bit, trying to spot him. There he is, about forty yards away. You duck back down and begin crawling towards him.

It takes several agonizing minutes, occasionally stopping to poke your head up and hoping he won't spot you, but soon enough you're within charging distance of the archer. You slowly unhook your blade from its chain on your back, taking a deep breath to ready yourself, before popping up and running straight for him. He manages to get a bolt off, hitting you in the thigh, but you carry on despite the wound and swing your sword at him. His head rolls on the ground not long after, and you pant.

You remove the bolt like you did the other one and look around. No one here yet. You shout back to your companions, "Let's get going!" Slowly, they rise from the grass. Miller takes the lead again, and the rest of the march goes on without incident.

After a few hours of walking, you arrive at Ornislov just as the sun is starting to set. The city is more like a giant fortress, surrounded by walls on all sides with no obvious entry points aside from the gates. Miller leads you around the city walls, to a sewer grate. "This is how we got in last time. Come on, get in." You and Iris crawl through the grate as Miller holds it open. He climbs in after you, shutting it.

Iris summons a fireball in her hand, keeping it held out to illuminate the area. The sewer tunnel stretches on for what seems like miles. There's a few latters every couple of yards, likely leading up into the city streets. Miller takes the lead again, walking past several ladders until he stops in front of one. "This is it. Above is a warehouse, where all the supplies are kept. There's guards around, so we'll have to take them out."

You and Iris nod. "Let's go."

The three of you begin climbing the ladder.
> You continue
Once you get above ground, you pause to examine the warehouse. It's bland and non-descript, made of wood and flanked on both sides by identical warehouses. Miller points out the one you're staring at. "This is it. There's guards inside. Come on, I know a way inside." You and Iris follow him to the side of the warehouse. There, a single wooden door stands, which Miller cracks open slowly. No one in sight, at least for now.

The three of you step inside, crouching down low. There's guards patrolling the warehouse, hands on swords at their hips. You hear two of them having a conversation in Kishak. You whisper, "Can I get a translation?"

Iris nods.

"What are those two saying?" You point out the two guards.

She listens in for a moment, then smiles slowly. "They're talking about how boring warehouse duty is. Let's spice it up a bit." She conjures up an smoky green orb in your hand. You wonder what it is for a moment, before she shoots it straight at the two guards. A faint cloud comes into existence around them, and as they breathe it in their eyes sag. After a few moments, the two collapse, sleeping. Iris nods. "Come on."

The three of you continue on like that, you and Miller keeping an eye out for guards while Iris takes them out quickly and quietly. Before long, the guards are all down, and the warehouse is yours for the taking. You approach the nearest supply box and open it, finding a large supply of food. You open the next, and find hundreds of crossbows. The next, hundreds of swords. It goes on and on, each crate containing an ungodly amount of supplies.

Nodding, you motion to Iris. "Light it up." The mage nods, before summoning up a fireball and shooting it right at the nearest crate. Then, she summons another and fires it, then another, and another. Before long, the building is starting to go up in flames. It seems like your work here is done, and you ready to leave... Before you hear a shout in Kishak.

A guard.

He runs straight for the front door and bolts before you can do anything, and the three of you share a look of shock. Then, Miller and Iris bolt, you trailing behind as fast as you can. The three of you get out of the warehouse and begin to open up the hatch leading into the sewers, while you hear a sharp horn go off in the distance. This is bad.

Miller cracks open the hatch and motions for the two of you to get in. As you do, Iris fires off a few more fireballs at the other warehouses. "Just in case!" she says, before joining you on the ladder. Miller gets in right away, closes the hatch above you all.

As you three enter the sewers and then quickly leave it, the sounds of marching footsteps greet your ears. The Kishak soldiers are moving fast. They must have sent some to investigate the warehouses, while the others were sent to find you on the outside. The three of you take off into the night as fast as you can, keeping an eye out for soldiers.

You get about a mile away when you notice the squadron of soldiers following after you. They must be one hundred men in all, all bolting straight for you. "We've got company!" you shout to your companions, who quickly notice the threat and pick up the pace. The three of you continue on, then notice an old log cabin on the side of the road. Acting quickly, the three of you duck in there.

Miller slams the door shut and immediately moves a nearby bookshelf in front of it. "That won't hold for long," you warn.

"I know. It's more for my piece of mind," he replies, slumping down into a sitting position.

"What are we going to do?" Iris asks. You and Miller don't give her an answer. "We accomplished our mission, but now we're behind enemy lines with no chance of rescue. Are we just supposed to sit back and die?"

You pat her on the shoulder, and nod. "Afraid so. We did the right thing. They'll make martyrs out of us, probably."

Miller sighs. "So we're just supposed to give in and die, is that it?"

Iris is fuming. "No. We're not going to just give in and die. We're going to go out there and give them hell before we do."

"No use. There's one hundred of them and three of us. We'd be slaughtered." Miller places his face in his hands.

"Better to take at least a few of them with us before they kill us, right?" Iris asks. "What do you think, Kit?"
> You say "You're right. Let's give those Kishak bastards hell."
Iris smiles. "I guess you are the real deal."

Despite yourself, you crack a smile too. "Yeah. I guess I am."

Miller sighs, then stands up. He unsheathes his sword, and sighs. "Well then, let's see to it that these Kishak sons of bitches meet their maker." He moves the bookshelf from the door, and looks to the two of you as he grips the door handle. "You two ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Iris says.

You nod. "Let's get this over with."

He pushes the door open, and the three of you move out as quickly as you can. There's at least one hundred Kishak soldiers in front of you, all armed with swords and axes and pikes and whatever else they have. The three of you stand side by side, readying your weapons; Miller takes a battle stance with his sword, Iris prepares an arc of electricity, and you grip your blade with both hands.

The Kishak soldiers charge, and the three of you meet them head on.

THE END


Once you get above ground, you pause to examine the warehouse. It's bland and non-descript, made of wood and flanked on both sides by identical warehouses. Miller points out the one you're staring at. "This is it. There's guards inside. Come on, I know a way inside." You and Iris follow him to the side of the warehouse. There, a single wooden door stands, which Miller cracks open slowly. No one in sight, at least for now.

The three of you step inside, crouching down low. There's guards patrolling the warehouse, hands on swords at their hips. You hear two of them having a conversation in Kishak. You whisper, "Can I get a translation?"

Iris nods.

"What are those two saying?" You point out the two guards.

She listens in for a moment, then smiles slowly. "They're talking about how boring warehouse duty is. Let's spice it up a bit." She conjures up an smoky green orb in your hand. You wonder what it is for a moment, before she shoots it straight at the two guards. A faint cloud comes into existence around them, and as they breathe it in their eyes sag. After a few moments, the two collapse, sleeping. Iris nods. "Come on."

The three of you continue on like that, you and Miller keeping an eye out for guards while Iris takes them out quickly and quietly. Before long, the guards are all down, and the warehouse is yours for the taking. You approach the nearest supply box and open it, finding a large supply of food. You open the next, and find hundreds of crossbows. The next, hundreds of swords. It goes on and on, each crate containing an ungodly amount of supplies.

Nodding, you motion to Iris. "Light it up." The mage nods, before summoning up a fireball and shooting it right at the nearest crate. Then, she summons another and fires it, then another, and another. Before long, the building is starting to go up in flames. It seems like your work here is done, and you ready to leave... Before you hear a shout in Kishak.

A guard.

He runs straight for the front door and bolts before you can do anything, and the three of you share a look of shock. Then, Miller and Iris bolt, you trailing behind as fast as you can. The three of you get out of the warehouse and begin to open up the hatch leading into the sewers, while you hear a sharp horn go off in the distance. This is bad.

Miller cracks open the hatch and motions for the two of you to get in. As you do, Iris fires off a few more fireballs at the other warehouses. "Just in case!" she says, before joining you on the ladder. Miller gets in right away, closes the hatch above you all.

As you three enter the sewers and then quickly leave it, the sounds of marching footsteps greet your ears. The Kishak soldiers are moving fast. They must have sent some to investigate the warehouses, while the others were sent to find you on the outside. The three of you take off into the night as fast as you can, keeping an eye out for soldiers.

You get about a mile away when you notice the squadron of soldiers following after you. They must be one hundred men in all, all bolting straight for you. "We've got company!" you shout to your companions, who quickly notice the threat and pick up the pace. The three of you continue on, then notice an old log cabin on the side of the road. Acting quickly, the three of you duck in there.

Miller slams the door shut and immediately moves a nearby bookshelf in front of it. "That won't hold for long," you warn.

"I know. It's more for my piece of mind," he replies, slumping down into a sitting position.

"What are we going to do?" Iris asks. You and Miller don't give her an answer. "We accomplished our mission, but now we're behind enemy lines with no chance of rescue. Are we just supposed to sit back and die?"

You pat her on the shoulder, and nod. "Afraid so. We did the right thing. They'll make martyrs out of us, probably."

Miller sighs. "So we're just supposed to give in and die, is that it?"

Iris is fuming. "No. We're not going to just give in and die. We're going to go out there and give them hell before we do."

"No use. There's one hundred of them and three of us. We'd be slaughtered." Miller places his face in his hands.

"Better to take at least a few of them with us before they kill us, right?" Iris asks. "What do you think, Kit?"
> You say "It's pointless. Let's just... Wait it out."
Iris wrinkles her nose at you. "Wait it out? The hell do you mean, wait it out? Wait until they burst in here and separate our heads from our bodies?"

You sigh, sitting down on the floor. "Something like that. We're going to die, might as well accept it."

She shakes her head. "The man I heard about would have gone out and faced them head on, even if it meant death."

"Sorry to disappoint you, kid. But I'm not that man anymore." You pull your knapsack off your back and reach into it, finding one of the bottles of wine you had Bertrand stash for you. You sigh, then pop it open and take a swig. You hold the bottle out. "Either of you want a sip?"

Miller grabs it first and chugs the bottle greedily. After a few moments, Iris snatches it out of his hands and takes a drink of her own, as if accepting defeat. She sits down on the floor with you and Miller, and the three of you pass the bottle around and drink for a while.

There's the pounding on the door as the Kishak soldiers try to get in. The bookshelf rattles with every hit, but it stands its ground. The three of you continue drinking. After all, you have all the time in the world.

THE END