All the orcs stand around a giant tree in the village center, waiting for your chief, Greusim, to speak.  He stands on a flat rock, looking over everyone.

Greusim has the raven black hair that all the orcs have, the sides shaved into a mohawk, with the back end running down to his upper back.  White hairs scattered throughout his majestic hair.  His face aged and wrinkled, giving him the appearance of a grumpy bulldog, and two sharp teeth protrude up from his under bite, a common trait among orcs.

For a moment you and he look at each other, his left eye always perpetually half closed, making him look vexed.  Although the chief is one of the calmest orcs you have ever met.

"Everyone," he starts, "it has come to my attention that the Imperials are amassing warriors by the borders between our lands."

He spreads his arms out.

"These very lands that have been our home since Gigalak gave it to the First Born."  He pauses for a moment.  "We need to make sure these lands are protected, for the well being of all orcs, ourselves, and future generations. "

Some of the orcs start calling out for blood, to which Greusim shakes his head.

"No, we must watch what the Empire does, we cannot go out looking for a fight.  Not this time, we must try to avoid conflict.  Now, I will personally lead an expedition team to the border, and we will see what the Imperials are doing.  There will likely be other tribes of orcs doing likewise, but if they fight the Empire, we will not interfere."

"What happened to all that shit about sticking together?!" an orc cries angrily.

"We will only fight if they attack us first, we will not be the ones to start a war with the Empire.  It would be deadly, and very long if we did so."

You all talk amongst each other.  According to chief Greusim, this could be a very precarious situation.  You call out.

"What if they are protecting their borders from orcs raiding Imperial lands?" you ask.  "You know what some of the tribes are like."

If you could even call them that, some groups of orcs aren't even proper tribes.  Just bands of raiders, thieves, and scum.

"If that is the case," the chief says, "we will let them know they do not act on behalf of all of Orcin.  Maybe, we would even help the Empire fight them on behalf of the rest of the tribes."

There is arguing amongst the orcs.  The orcs have banded together to fight external threats, but never with a foreign power to fight other orcs.  The affairs of orcs have always been kept to the tribes of orcin.

Helping the Empire fight fellow orcs, no matter if they are scum, would be crazy.

"So, my friends," Greusim says, "who will aid me on this quest."

Many hands go up, the chief peering through the crowd to see who would be best.

You wonder if you should raise your hand, the expedition might call for experience and expertise, which you would have.  On the other hand, you also don't really want to leave your family for an extended period of time.  While Gilikia is strong and hard-working, two kids, an infant, and a multitude of chores would be difficult for her to handle by herself.  Also, there is the fact that someone may need to run the village in Greusim's absence, which is also something you would be willing to do.
> You don't Go
You have weighed out all of the options, and you decide that you are going to stay here at the village.  Let the currently more adventurous orcs handle this sort of thing.  Greusim looks somewhat disappointed that you did not volunteer to go along, but no chief can force an orc to take a part in these matters if they do not wish to.

Chief Greusim beckons you to him, while all the other orcs are getting prepared for the trip, or complaining they weren't selected.

"Nolazir, my friend," Greusim says, "I need your help."

"I'm sorry Greusim, I can't go-"

"No, not that," he says.  "I need you to keep an eye of the village while I am gone.  Oversee things and make sure that it all holds together."

"Well what exactly do I have to do?" you ask.

"Hmm, govern the daily matters of the village, for one.  Most orcs are responsible for their own crops and supplies, but sometimes Gigalak has other plans.  If they need help, then you help them.  If there are any squabbles, you end those as soon as you can.  Also, as I'm sure you know, make sure the village is kept safe…"

Greusim gets into the specifics of running the village day to day, and while some of it sounds kind of boring, you realize those are the things that must be done to keep the village together.

"Gigalak didn't give us these fields, forests, and mountains as our home, just to lose it to laziness and ignorance.  Remain vigilant and you will be fine," Greusim nods and pats your shoulder, "but I trust you Nolazir, you'll do a fine job in my stead."

You bid each other farewell.  Greusim and the rest of the groups ride off towards the mountains, and before leaving the village Rolomag looks back from his horse and nods at you, which you return.

The village stands behind you, more or less going on as it always has, even if it is a little emptier.
> You branch 1B: Home
You enter the large hut that could be considered the villages town hall.  There really isn't much to it, mostly a chair and desk near a fire place.  The rest of the space just has piles of extra crates, hide bags, and random farming tools.  As there isn't much use for an orc at a desk, you decide to saddle up and make your rounds through the village.

After some time, you realize there isn't much going on except for the village seeming a bit emptier.  It isn't as empty as it was when you returned from fighting the Wister Elves, but you shake off this feeling before you go into your old habit of thinking about those days too much.

It is not too long after that several orcs come to seek out your guidance and leadership.  While you have always been able to lead others when it counted, it was never really in a domestic capacity.

You stand outside of the chief's hut, feeling it unnecessary to sit at the desk.  One by one the orcs come through, asking for advice on various issues regarding farming, smithing, and others.  A few even come to you for help in settling disputes among each other.

After the next few hours, you feel pretty great that you got to help, and that none of the disputes ended in bloodshed, which is quite common in Orcin.  While you are the acting chief, you are confident that no fools are going to try to challenge your leadership.  This would be foolish as Greusim would return to take his rightful place soon anyway.  You have rarely heard of orc cheifs being assassinated, as outright murdering an orc chief does not count, and would only end in execution.

An aspiring orc would have to challenge him, and at the appointed time they would fight where the whole village could watch.  The fight would go until one yielded, or to the death.  From what you remember from when you were much younger, that is how Greusim came to be chief.  Although the chief before him was a terrible and cruel leader.  Since then, you had only seen a few orcs challenge Greusim; those all ended in a grisly demise for the challengers, and saying as most are happy with his leadership, there has been no need to attempt to remove him.

As you prepare to return home for the day, you see one of Greusim's sons, Galik, briskly approaching.  Judging by his demeanor, you know he is upset about something.  At first, you assume it is about Greusim refusing to bring him on the expedition.  Although Galik is of age to participate in these matters, he is way too hot headed, even for a normal orc of youth.

"I'm here to take my rightful place as chieftain," Galik says.

You take a moment to stop yourself from laughing.

"Galik, my friend," you start, "do you realize this is temporary?"

"Yes, but as I am his son," he says.  "Why shouldn't I be in charge? I have seen him work enough to know what to do."

"I know you would be very skilled in leading the tribe," you say, "but he left me in charge and I will obey his wishes."

"Who are you to take this power from us?" he asks.  "When we earned-"

"No, Greusim earned it," you say.  "You should know that status does not follow family lines.  Each lives according to his own merit."

You cross your arms and lean against the hut.

"Besides, in a few years when your father is good and ready to retire," you say.  "I'm sure you'll be well prepared to lead us further into prosperity.  Do you think I want this title?"

Galik stops and thinks for a minute.

"Galik, as I said, this is only temporary," you say.  "I would not want to do this for all the years Greusim has, I have my own place in the tribe.  While he can't pass down leadership to you, he can prepare you to earn the role when it is your time.  You'll do a fine job, boy."

Galik seems calmed down at your words, and he nods.

"I'm sorry Nolazir, my friend," he says.  "Sometimes I get caught up in these things too much.  I especially want to preserve all the hard work my father has put into this village."

"And you shall, someday."

Galik apologizes again before going off to take care of other matters.  You sigh and look around the village, the dying light casting a cold shade upon your home.

You get to your horse and ride back down the trail leading to your house.
> You later...
The next morning yields several orcs showing up to your house.  While at first, you thought their intentions were bad, as soon as they saw you they started complaining about issues.  You notice these orcs are the young and impatient sort, who haven't learned that showing up at a chief's house first thing in the morning is frowned upon.

Sternly, you tell them to wait until you go down to the hut to start village business.  The orcs all grumble and shuffle off, presumably to cause some mischief.

You shake your head.

"No damn patience."

You take care of your regular work, making sure your wife only really needs to worry about the inside of the house and the children.

After saying your goodbyes to your family, you walk down to the village center.  Breathing in the fresh morning air, happiness swells inside of you, but soon after you can't help but get a sick feeling in your stomach.  It is almost as if something has reached its hand into your gut and is content with squeezing your organs within.  Ignoring this feeling, you go back to thinking about the day.

All around the village orcs hustle and bustle, going about their daily work and chores.  You see the village blacksmith working hard, mostly making farming equipment for some of the residents.  You have dabbled in some smithing yourself, but as most orc weapons are relatively simple to make, the task is usually up to a handful of orcs.  These days all their work mostly goes to farming equipment, tools, and other metal components for barrels, wagons, and other miscellaneous things.

You watch as a dozen orcs prepare their canoes for some river fishing.  While most orcs can be self-sufficient, most like fish, and it makes good for trading for the villages who cannot get fish so easily.

Ahead, a wagon slowly rolls into the village, pulled by horses and with several orcs sitting on it.  You recognize them as being from one of the mountain coastal tribes.  They have come a long way to trade with many tribes.  As they trade rocks and materials only found by the sea, including some pearls, they regale the younger orcs with tales of adventures on the sea.  Most likely exaggerating accounts of encounters and battles with large sea monsters.

Eventually, they roll through the village, their exchanges being over with.  You notice they even recruit a few young and adventurous orcs to join them on their sea adventures.  While you can't stop them, you wish they would stay and help the village.  Most are still concerned about the reports on the Mannate Empire.

The orcs that leave with them will probably return someday, they always do.  Turning your attention to other matters, several of the orcs need your assistance and advice on village matters.  You lead them past a group of young teenage orcs fighting and wrestling, as they tend to do.
> Two Hours Later
After a couple hours of dealing with the villagers' problems, one orc named Ruzmar rushes in, panting and sweating profusely.

"Nolazir," he says, "I was out hunting for deer by the rivers Southwest of the village.  We saw a group of goblins heading through the hills."

"Goblins live in the area, so what's it to us?" you ask.

"We were only a few miles from the river," Ruzmar says.  "They have always been rivals with the lawless tribes down in the plains in that area.  The thing is, they've never been this far up."

"Hmm," you cross your hands under your chin, "perhaps they've been driven up here by the tribeless bands."

"Also," he says, "they are pretty heavily armed.  Not the usual stone and wood weapons either, metal and iron.  I think they're learning how to make better stuff, or stealing it from the lawless, who have probably stolen it from others."

"Show me."
> Onward
With this alarming revelation, you round up two dozen orcs to go with you and Ruzmar.  As you climb onto the saddle, Galik approaches, ready to go.

You open your mouth to tell him to stay, but stop as you realize he will need to learn how these things are handled.

Later, after as the evening sun lowers over the land, you move through the hills.  Keeping a vigilant watch, Ruzmar tells you that you have almost reached where he last saw the Goblins.

Over the next hill, a large camp extends over the little peaks and valleys in between.  Multiple campfires are alight, and you see the short goblins scampering about, doing random chores or just keeping an eye out.

Peering closer, you see that several seem to notice your group.  Before long a group of over thirty goblins cautiously make their way over, stopping at the end of what they believe is throwing distance.  One particularly larger and uglier goblin walks forward.  His face and body are covered in tribal tattoos, and he wears bone necklaces and an amulet which must be a symbol of status.

"I am Gru'zikular," he says, "Chieftain of the proud tribe of Gerobler."

"I am Nolazir, humble servant of Chief Greusim, the leader of our tribe."

"Has your tribe no name?"

"Sometimes we are called the River tribe, but Gigalak has never had need to distinguish us.  Only the lawless concern themselves with petty names."

Gru'zikular nods, both hands resting on his staff, which you assume is where he draws his shamanic power.  The orcs and goblins are similar in that respect, they call upon the powers of the Earth for assistance, while the elves use their strange magic.

"That is what we have come to speak about," Gru'zikular says.  "These….lawless orcs raid and pillage, steal and burn.  We have tried to make peace, we have tried to fight them.  Nothing has worked, so we come to you with a treaty."

"I see your plight, the lawless have been trouble," you say, "but they've kept the humans, dwarves, ogres, and even yourselves from treading too far in our lands.  I would say, you goblins and the ogres have probably helped keep the dwarves out as well."

"So then why are we treated as such vermin and animals?" Gru'zikular asks, "we no longer have lands to call our own, since the dwarves threw us from the mountains and caves, and before that, we walked these very lands you now call yours.  Since our removal we have roamed the land, living much as bandits and raiders in order to survive."

Gru'zikular seems to get a little angry, although he attempts to hide it.

"We seem to have common interests," he says, "so we need your help.  Either tell the lawless to leave us alone or else help us fight them.  In exchange for their souls, and the land they live, we would be glad to put our skills to use for the lawful tribes of orcs."

They offer an interesting argument, and although both goblins and the lawless orcs have each been helpful in their own way, they each also pose their own problems.

"I will bring your request to Chief Greusim upon his return," you say.  "Until then, you will have our protection."

Gru'zikular raises his eyebrow.  It is here that you explain you will leave some orcs to watch over the camp, as the lawless would not dare to kill an orc from a proper tribe.  This would bring upon them the wrath of the council and neighboring orc tribes.  The goblin chief expresses his appreciation.

You leave half of the orcs in your company with the goblins.  Although there is much complaining, they still comply.
> You return to the Village
As you ride back, Galik ceaselessly argues over your decision.  At which point you tell him to shut up, and that Greusim will have the final say.  Even though he still seems pissed, it gets him off of your back for now.

It is late when you return to the village, and you decide not to worry about any of these issues for the night.  They can easily be handled tomorrow.

The next morning seems to come quicker than you had expected.  Yawning as you stretch, you go to quiet your infant child, Lagrik.

After some time, when the child has fallen asleep, you go outside.  Almost immediately, you see three orcs riding up to your house on horseback.  You are almost about to shout at them when you realize these aren't the young and impatient orcs from the other day.

You see three faces before you.  The first being Rolomag, his face drawn and tired looking.  His normally shaved face covered in a dark stubble.  The second is Dekard, the orc who first saw the Imperials and went on the expedition.  Around his head are bandages wrapped around, a dark red stain soaked into it.

The third orc is one you do not know, his hair is wild and his face also covered in stubble.  Multiple scars line his face and arms, his leather and fur clothing not looking like that of your tribe.  Two teeth protrude from his underbite, one of those is chipped.  A red hand painted on his face, his dark eyes attempt to pierce through you.

"Who is this?" you ask.

"My name is Grolik, leader of the Red Handed orcs band."

"Hmm?" you say, "one of the lawless.  What are you doing here?"

Before he can continue, Rolomag has jumped off of his horse and grabs your shoulders.  Eyes widening, you step back, pushing his arms off of you.

"What has gotten into you?" you ask.

"Nolazir," he says, seeming very tired, "we ran into some Imperials, they were fighting these orcs."

Rolomag goes on to explain that the Imperial soldiers laid siege to the orcs, who were stuck on a rocky hill.  They exchanged arrows with the archers, and some Imperial knights on horseback made sure none could leave the hill.

He goes on to say that Greusim rode forward to talk to the Imperials, but was struck in the side with an arrow.  While both sides were shooting back and forth, Rolomag is not sure who actually hit the chief.

Rolomag goes on to explain that the arrow barely had an effect on him, and that, even when all-out combat broke out, Greusim was able to help them.  They killed the knights and managed to wipe out the archer columns after a hard-fought battle.

Rolomag looks at the ground and seems to stop.

"Well, then what happened?" you ask.  "Out with it."

"From out of the trees a large force of Imperial soldiers ran out, we fought them well on horseback… but… they surrounded Greusim and the orcs nearest to him."

Rolomag seems to struggle with speaking.

"They fought well, but the humans were hard to kill with their silver coats and helmets.  They pulled Greusim off his horse… by Gigalak there were so many of them.  They struck him with everything imaginable, even his own club."

"What are you saying?" you say, already knowing but in disbelief.

"Greusim lays dead," Rolomag says.  "They butchered his corpse.  After that we couldn't fight them, there were just too many.  We fled to the hills, and from there the three of us came here."

You sit down, almost missing the wooden log and hitting the ground.  Staring at the ground, you wonder how this expedition could have led to this?  All he wanted to do was talk, and those animals tore him apart.

"Damn human scum," you say on the way to the village as you learn of the other fallen orcs.
> You mourning
The village is in mourning, the loss of Greusim and the other dozen orcs has hit the village hard.  A somber mood fills the air, and most orcs only know of one way to handle these types of emotions.

You see many orcs putting on their war paint, and performing war rituals to ask for Gigalak's favor and guidance.  Sighing, you join in on this, as your anger fills you.

The humans do not know peace or diplomacy.  They only see war and control.  While the switch from sadness to rage was quick, you all know it is the right thing to do.

As you ride towards the camp in the mountain, you make your plans for revenge on the Empire.

The plan, to unite with the Red Handed and find where the Imperial camp is located.  Then you will figure out how best to handle them…


> You turn out the lights.
Once upon a time you were called the greatest hero to ever live.

You must have been nineteen at the time. Fresh faced, hot headed, and too dumb for your own good. With sword 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 mage, a rogue, a bard, a healer, and yourself, a fighter.

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 mage were all that remained when you reached the twentieth and final floor, and she 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. Women wanted you, men 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 knight in shining armor, slaying the vile wizard with your enchanted blade.

That was when you finally shut yourself in, to hide from the common folk and their damning praise, from the artists and their bastardized accounts. For five years the only place you'd go was the tavern down the road from your estate, where you'd planned to waste the rest of your days drinking until you couldn't remember your regrets. It didn't work. Just as luck would have it, you were recognized one day, and soon people were flocking to the pub like moths to a torch. All in the hopes of meeting you, the legendary hero.

In these last five years, you've stayed locked up in the master bedroom of your manor. You ordered your butler to bring you ten bottles of wine and three loafs of bread in the morning, leaving you be until the next day. No one can enter your room save the butler, and if anyone does you make sure to scare them off by grabbing your old sword and flailing it around while yelling drunkenly at them.

It's a fitting end for the man regarded as the greatest hero to ever live: locking himself away in the home gifted to him, drinking wine and eating bread and waiting for the day he finally dies.
> You continue
Your latest quest begins not with the destruction of your manor or the death of someone close to you, but rather with a letter.

Bertrand, your loyal servant, comes to your room in the early morning hours to drop off today's dosage of bread and wine. But on the platter, tucked in between two loaves of bread, is a letter. The seal is emblazoned with the royal coat of arms. You eye Bertrand warily, and the old man gives a sigh. "Apologies, my lord. A knight came to the manor this morning, and he requested that I pass this along to you. The knight said that it's an invitation to the royal castle from the king himself. I suggest you read it."

With a sigh of your own, you rip open the envelope and unfold the letter, taking a look at the contents.

"Dear Sir,

I have need of a man of your talents. There are important matters to discuss regarding the ongoing war between the Kingdom of Oren and the Empire of Kishak. You must report to Castle Oren as soon as you may, though I urge you to arrive soon. If a week has passed without word from you, then I am afraid I must send my men to acquire you immediately. I hope that you will come.

Regards,

King Walter III."

You scoff at the letter. Bastard king, sitting on his throne while his dogs do the work. You suppose that he considers you one of them. The question lies in whether you are indeed one of the dogs that mindlessly obeys orders, or whether you'll break from the pack and carve your own path.
> You damn the king. He holds no power over you.
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 need to leave. There's nothing for you here.
In the late hours of the night, you set out for parts unknown.

On your back is your sword, chipped and dull. It's far too large to be called a sword; massive, heavy, far too rough. If anything, it's a hunk of raw iron. But it's yours, and a single swing with the large blade is enough to cut down three cavalrymen and their horses too. Beside it is your knapsack, carrying only raw essentials, such as food, a change of clothes, a tinderbox, lantern oil, and a jug of alcohol. Fifteen feet of rope in a coil is tied onto your belt, alongside a lantern.

For a moment you're leaving your home village with your friends. All of you are young, reckless, hopeful... But the nostalgia soon fades, and you realize what you're doing. You're not leaving to save the world, you're leaving to get away from your responsibilities. The thought makes you let out a dry, humorless laugh.

It's been so long since you've traveled. You almost forgot what it felt like, just you on the open road. It feels... Liberating, almost. Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders for the first time in years. As though you were holding the world high above you, and only now can you take a break. But you don't hold onto that feeling, for you know well enough that it will distract you from any dangers on the road...

Soon enough, you come upon a fork in the road. One road leads into the forest. You're unlikely to come across any other people on this road, only wilderness as far as the eye can see. The other road is a common trade route, with villages dotting it every few miles. Either way, wherever you go, you'll be traveling far away from the place you once called home.
> You take the path into the woods.
You take the path through the woods, being sure to light your lantern along the way. The ambient sounds of wildlife keep you on the alert. For every wolf's howl and twig snapped in the distance, your hand draws closer to the hilt of your sword. Still, nothing comes out to attack you, and you must be grateful for that.

The road carries you onwards for hours, until finally you must stop and rest. With a grunt, you begin to climb up into a large oak tree along the path, checking every branch until, finally, you find one that can support your weight. You kill your lantern and tie it to the branch using your rope. Setting your knapsack up against the tree, you lay down, and fall asleep.

The sound of shouting and the light of torches causes your eyes to snap open. Through the canopy of leaves you can see a faint glow, as though sunlight is fighting hard to break through and onto the path. On said path you see a large group of men wearing armor comprised of animal hides and worn out leather.

Marauders. They're a wandering group of bandits and raiders, accepting any who wish to fight with them. They make their living by ransacking and pillaging towns, and never stay in one place for long. Above all, they admire a fierce warrior, and rumor has it that if one can slay the leader of a Marauder band, then one may lead them.

Instinctively you reach for your sword, but stop as you realize that they can't see you unless they look up. They must be on the way to find a village, so that they can steal their valuables, kill them all, or rape the women. Perhaps even all three, if they're a particularly ambitious bunch.

You've fought these sorts before, and most often they'll fight tooth and nail until their leader is dead. Once that happens, they'll submit themselves to you willingly... That is, if you can survive long enough to reach their leader. If you got into a fight, you can't be sure you'll walk away from it alive.

But at the same time... Could you just sit by and let these men harass, or even kill, the innocent?
> You yes, you can. You're not a hero anymore. They can do as they like, so long as they don't bother you.
You make yourself scarce, watching them as they continue their march out of the forest. They're a band of about four dozen, and you know that if you had chosen to fight them, it may have meant the end of you. It must have taken close to half an hour for them all to move on so far that they were out of sight, but the adrenaline pumping through your blood made the time seem as though it had passed in the blink of an eye.

Once they're gone, you retrieve your lantern and rope, before carefully climbing down the tree. You let out a sigh of relief once your feet hit the ground, and you continue your journey onward into the woods. Your journey lasts long into the day, and before you know it, the trees begin to give way to grassy fields. The only problem being that it's almost night again, and you don't want to risk sleeping out in the open.

The trees are too small here for you to be able to sleep in one. You scan the area, and find... A cave? Yes, there's an entrance to a cave poking out of the ground towards the edge of the wilderness. The entrance is massive, which means that something undesirable may lurk in there, though you can take out whatever may call the cave its home.

Alternatively, you can continue your march into the night. Perhaps you'll find a better place to take shelter.
> You you'll take shelter in the cave.
You walk to the cave's entrance, lighting your lantern. Within the inky black darkness are piles of bones. Most of them are those of animals, though you spot a human skull in there. This might have been a bad idea. Still, you carry onward, swinging your sword around from your back and gripping the hilt tightly.

As you journey further, you find no sign of bears or wolves or the like. So, you carry onward, intent on slaying whatever beast may live here. It is deeper into the cave that you begin to hear and feel a low rumbling. It shakes you to your core, and your knuckles whiten as you grip your sword tighter. Is it what you think it is?

Your question is answered when your lantern's light glints off of maroon scales.

A dragon, slumbering on a pile of branches and bones. By the size of it, it appears to be young, no older than perhaps an infant, though that does not mean that it will be friendly. Nearby are the skeletal remains of another dragon, this beast far larger. Was it orphaned? You've no idea.

You are about to make your leave so you don't face the wrath of the beast when its eyes snap open.
> You quickly slide your blade back onto your back and raise your hands. You just want to go.
Slowly, you slip your sword back into place on your back, and raise your hands. The dragon stares at you, though no malice is in its eyes; instead, you see an almost childlike curiosity. Perhaps the human skull you saw was left there by its deceased parent? Whatever it is, the dragon has yet to make any hostile actions towards you.

It begins to inch its head closer to you, sniffing you curiously. Thinking quickly, you carefully remove your knapsack, then reach deep inside it. Within is a slab of raw venison, which you offer to the beast. It looks as though it's about to rip your arms off along with the meat, so you set it down at your feet and back away slowly. As you suspected, the dragon greedily gobbles it up.

Once it has finished its snack, it looks contentedly at you, nudging you as though asking for more. You provide him another slab of meat, which he takes from your hands this time. Then another. You save the last piece of venison for yourself, slowly putting your knapsack back in place. The dragon tilts its head at you, before letting out what appears to be a yawn. It settles back down on the ground, and falls asleep.

You let out a sigh. That was... Terrifying. You back up and set up a place to sleep not far from the dragon's chamber, falling asleep in minutes from the exhaustion. In the morning, you get up... Only to see the dragon there, staring at you. Carefully, you get up, but the dragon makes no sudden moves. Just stares at you expectantly.

Putting your hands back up, you begin to back away slowly, and the dragon begins to follow. For a second, you close your eyes, awaiting the painful bite that will follow... But nothing happens. Instead, it stands there staring at you as though a puppy waiting for its master's commands.

You lower your hands, then turn around. Continuing out of the cave, you glance over your shoulder every now and again, and the dragon still follows. Have you... Tamed the beast? That was easier than you expected it would be. It continues to follow you out of the cave, blinking violently at the light when you emerge from the cave and into the daylight, but still retaining its friendly attitude. It continues to follow you as you march onward to places unknown.

When you fell asleep in the night, you half expected the dragon to have tried eating you in your sleep, or to have flown back to his cave. Instead, you awake to him presenting you a mangled deer carcass. It looks like you've made a new companion, and a very powerful one at that.

So it is that you and the beast continue onward to wherever the road takes you.

THE END


You walk to the cave's entrance, lighting your lantern. Within the inky black darkness are piles of bones. Most of them are those of animals, though you spot a human skull in there. This might have been a bad idea. Still, you carry onward, swinging your sword around from your back and gripping the hilt tightly.

As you journey further, you find no sign of bears or wolves or the like. So, you carry onward, intent on slaying whatever beast may live here. It is deeper into the cave that you begin to hear and feel a low rumbling. It shakes you to your core, and your knuckles whiten as you grip your sword tighter. Is it what you think it is?

Your question is answered when your lantern's light glints off of maroon scales.

A dragon, slumbering on a pile of branches and bones. By the size of it, it appears to be young, no older than perhaps an infant, though that does not mean that it will be friendly. Nearby are the skeletal remains of another dragon, this beast far larger. Was it orphaned? You've no idea.

You are about to make your leave so you don't face the wrath of the beast when its eyes snap open.
> You this beast might be wild. You swing wildly, hoping to wound it.
You swing wildly, a yell escaping your lips. The blade meets the dragon's rough scales, and it lets out a roar of mixed agony and rage. Blood drips from its wounds, and it rears back, head turning to look at the deep gash in its side... Then, it charges at you.

It barrels into you, sending you onto your ass. Another roar escapes its mouth, swiping a claw at you. You block the blow with your sword, cutting deeper into the dragon's hand, and it rears back yet again to determine its next move. It must not be used to fighting.

It's making for another charge.
> You stand your ground and stick your sword out, hoping the beast runs into it.
As the dragon charges forward, you stick your blade out, hoping that it will be unable to stop and impale itself on your sword. Instead, it ducks below the blade, and though you try to adjust quickly and bring the sword down onto the animal, you're too late. It charges into you, this time biting into your stomach. You let out a yell of pain, repeatedly bringing your sword down onto its back, but by the time it is finally dead the damage is done.

Your entrails are spilling out of your torso. Bloody coughs escape your lips. There's no coming back from this, unless a healer suddenly happened to come by. With your luck, another dragon would sooner come by instead. Eventually, the pain stops, and you close your eyes with a shuddering, blood-tinged sigh...

THE END


You swing wildly, a yell escaping your lips. The blade meets the dragon's rough scales, and it lets out a roar of mixed agony and rage. Blood drips from its wounds, and it rears back, head turning to look at the deep gash in its side... Then, it charges at you.

It barrels into you, sending you onto your ass. Another roar escapes its mouth, swiping a claw at you. You block the blow with your sword, cutting deeper into the dragon's hand, and it rears back yet again to determine its next move. It must not be used to fighting.

It's making for another charge.
> You leap out of the way, swinging your sword at it whilst you do.
You wait for a moment, to ensure that it's close... And then you leap out of the way of the charge, swinging your sword at it. You manage to nail it right in the belly, the blade cleaving through the dragon's scales and into its flesh. It lets out a blood curdling screech, tumbling a bit as it loses its footing before finally falling over onto the ground.

You walk closer, sword at the ready. The dragon twitches slightly, so you bring your blade onto its throat. That killed it, for sure. With the beast slain, you collapse onto the ground, catching your breath. That was... Intense, to say the least. You've never fought a dragon. If the beast were any bigger, you would have lost, no doubt.

Then, you laugh. You laugh until your ribs ache and tears escape your eyes. Then you laugh some more.

You just slayed a dragon. You must be losing your mind to be doing this sort of stuff again.

After a while of laying there, you fall asleep, and in the morning you wake up recharged despite the aching where the dragon rammed into you. You exit the cave, and begin the track on the path. The excitement of fighting such a monstrous beast and living to tell the tale... It's exhilarating. Why has it been so long since you've felt this? You miss it.

You set out to find more beasts to hunt.

THE END


You make yourself scarce, watching them as they continue their march out of the forest. They're a band of about four dozen, and you know that if you had chosen to fight them, it may have meant the end of you. It must have taken close to half an hour for them all to move on so far that they were out of sight, but the adrenaline pumping through your blood made the time seem as though it had passed in the blink of an eye.

Once they're gone, you retrieve your lantern and rope, before carefully climbing down the tree. You let out a sigh of relief once your feet hit the ground, and you continue your journey onward into the woods. Your journey lasts long into the day, and before you know it, the trees begin to give way to grassy fields. The only problem being that it's almost night again, and you don't want to risk sleeping out in the open.

The trees are too small here for you to be able to sleep in one. You scan the area, and find... A cave? Yes, there's an entrance to a cave poking out of the ground towards the edge of the wilderness. The entrance is massive, which means that something undesirable may lurk in there, though you can take out whatever may call the cave its home.

Alternatively, you can continue your march into the night. Perhaps you'll find a better place to take shelter.
> You you'll continue your trek.
In spite of the darkness, you continue on the path, keeping a hand on your sword in case you're attacked. You light your lantern so that you can see more clearly, and march onwards. Eventually, you spot an old wooden cabin near a lake, not too far off the path. It looks abandoned, but hopefully if anyone still resides within you can convince them to let you take shelter.

You make your way to the front door, where you attempt to open it, only to find that it's locked. Damn, the place isn't abandoned. Instead, you raise your fist and pound upon the door. "Hello," you call out, "I seek shelter for the night." It takes a moment, but soon you hear footsteps descending stairs within, then the sound of a lantern being lit, followed by faint light creeping through under the door. Finally, you hear the sound of a bolt being unlocked.

The door cracks open slightly, and you can see a wrinkled eye poking out. "I didn't think anyone still wandered these old roads," he says, his voice old and creaky. "What brings you 'round here, stranger?"

"I'm nothing but a simple wanderer," you reply. "I just seek shelter for the night."

He looks as though he's contemplating it. He seems wary, though that isn't unreasonable; if you were in his shoes, being woken in the dead of night by a large man with a large sword, you'd be wary as well. Finally, he opens the door wider, croaking out "Come in." You oblige.

Before you stands an older man, perhaps in his 60s, dressed in a faded blue woolen shirt and ragged breeches. "Welcome. My name is Oscar. What's yours, wanderer?"

"My name is Kit." You look around. The interior of the cabin is quaint, decorated with paintings and old wooden furniture. A hearth sits on the back wall, cooking utensils hanging above it, near stairs ascending to the second floor. "A nice home you have here."

"Thank you." Oscar gestures to the floor. "You're welcome to make yourself comfortable. Please, do not head to the second floor. My wife is attempting to sleep. She's been sick."

You nod. "I understand. Thank you, sir."

Oscar ascends the stairs, leaving you on the first floor. You lay down, and fall asleep.

In the morning, you wake to Oscar descending from the stairs. "Morning, sir. You're welcome to stay for breakfast if you want, I'm going to get wood for the hearth. And again, please do not disturb my wife. She's still dreadfully sick." With that, he heads to the door and leaves.

He's rather insistent that you not bother his wife. Is she really that sick? Maybe you can check for yourself. Or, you can wait for him to come back and then eat breakfast with him and be on your way.
> You you're curious. You'll head upstairs.
After a moment, you get up from your place on the floor and slowly head up the stairs. Surely you have enough time before Oscar gets back. Once you reach the top of the steps, you find there is a hallway leading to a single door. You approach the door, a sinking feeling in your gut rising all the while. Something isn't right.

You open the door and what you see almost causes you to lose the contents of your stomach.

There in the bed is the corpse of a woman. She's decomposed heavily, and it's clear she's been dead a long while, far too long. Porridge drips from her rotting mouth. It was made recently. This is... Repulsive. Horrific. Wrong.

You're not sure how long you've been standing there, staring at the woman's corpse in shock. It isn't until you hear Oscar's shouting that you realize what you've just found... And rage shakes within you.

You unsheath your sword. "W-wait! I can explain!" Oscar yells, sticking his hands up.
> You damn him, the sick bastard. You swing.
You swing your blade into him. It cleaves through him like a knife through butter, bisecting him from hip to shoulder. He's dead before his torso hits the floor, and blood stains the walls of the cabin. You don't bother to clean up the mess you just made. Instead, you make your leave.

You continue on the road for a while. Days, maybe even weeks pass. However long you've been on these pathways, you don't know. Eventually, you manage to find a cabin that has actually been abandoned, resting nicely on the edge of a forest. It is there that you finally settle down, hunting and gathering for food.

Occasionally, travelers pass through on their own journeys, but they never stay long. Once or twice bandits have attempted to rob you, but once you retrieved your old sword and showed how well you can handle it, they quietly backed away... Most of them, anyhow. The fools that didn't? Well, you're lucky the stains came off easily with a bit of elbow grease.

Finally, you are at peace.

THE END


After a moment, you get up from your place on the floor and slowly head up the stairs. Surely you have enough time before Oscar gets back. Once you reach the top of the steps, you find there is a hallway leading to a single door. You approach the door, a sinking feeling in your gut rising all the while. Something isn't right.

You open the door and what you see almost causes you to lose the contents of your stomach.

There in the bed is the corpse of a woman. She's decomposed heavily, and it's clear she's been dead a long while, far too long. Porridge drips from her rotting mouth. It was made recently. This is... Repulsive. Horrific. Wrong.

You're not sure how long you've been standing there, staring at the woman's corpse in shock. It isn't until you hear Oscar's shouting that you realize what you've just found... And rage shakes within you.

You unsheath your sword. "W-wait! I can explain!" Oscar yells, sticking his hands up.
> You stay your hand. If he doesn't give an answer you like, you'll kill him.
It takes all your willpower to keep your blade from meeting his flesh. Still, your anger does not subside, and your voice comes out in a low growl when you speak, "What the fuck are you doing?"

It is then that Oscar breaks into tears.He falls to his knees. "I... I... I couldn't bare to lose her! I loved her so much! When she got sick, I was heartbroken... And when she died I couldn't accept it! I didn't want to lose her!" He can't find it in himself to continue, instead letting out a heart wrenching sob. "Please, sir... If you must, end my life. I wish... I wish to buried next to her."

The grip on your sword tightens. You're not sure what to do with this pitiful old man.
> You he asked you to kill him. You will, and put him and his wife to rest.
You raise your sword. As gently as you can, you stab his throat. He lets out a pained gurgle, blood filling his esophagus, before finally his lungs are filled and death takes him. You pull out your sword and find his head has nearly been lopped off. Disgusting.

You take his corpse in your hands and take him outside, where you set him down. Then, you do the same with his wife, hauling her outside. You set her down next to her husband, before heading back inside to grab a shovel.

A few hours later, the pair are buried. You head to a nearby tree and cut off a decent sized branch, which you jam into the soil of their grave. There, they shall find rest... As you stand there over their shared grave, you find yourself thinking back to Grace, the hotheaded girl who could conjure fire with but a flick of her palm. What you would give to have been buried next to her.

You set off from the grave.

THE END


It takes all your willpower to keep your blade from meeting his flesh. Still, your anger does not subside, and your voice comes out in a low growl when you speak, "What the fuck are you doing?"

It is then that Oscar breaks into tears.He falls to his knees. "I... I... I couldn't bare to lose her! I loved her so much! When she got sick, I was heartbroken... And when she died I couldn't accept it! I didn't want to lose her!" He can't find it in himself to continue, instead letting out a heart wrenching sob. "Please, sir... If you must, end my life. I wish... I wish to buried next to her."

The grip on your sword tightens. You're not sure what to do with this pitiful old man.
> You won't kill him. You know the pain he is going through, has been going through.
With a sigh, you place your sword back onto your back. Then, you kneel down to be at eye level with the sobbing man. Despite the emotions you want to show, you find your voice being almost monotone as you speak. "I know the pain you're going through. I lost my love when she and I were young, far too young. You should be grateful for the time you had with her."

He wipes his eyes slowly, but he says nothing.

"It's time to let go."

With that his tears are dried. It seems as though a weight is lifted from his shoulders with your words.

"I... Thank you, for your words. I'll... I'll bury her, under her favorite tree. You can stay for breakfast, if you'd like. I won't be long." He picks himself up off the floor, and you do as well.

"I think I will." With that, you head downstairs, while Oscar begins to retrieve his wife's corpse. He leaves for the yard, while you sit and wait in his living room. He comes back an hour or so later, makes porridge, and serves it to you. The two of you eat in silence, before you stand and make your leave.

Life must go on. The pain that one endures is what makes them human. You know that all too well.

THE END


In spite of the darkness, you continue on the path, keeping a hand on your sword in case you're attacked. You light your lantern so that you can see more clearly, and march onwards. Eventually, you spot an old wooden cabin near a lake, not too far off the path. It looks abandoned, but hopefully if anyone still resides within you can convince them to let you take shelter.

You make your way to the front door, where you attempt to open it, only to find that it's locked. Damn, the place isn't abandoned. Instead, you raise your fist and pound upon the door. "Hello," you call out, "I seek shelter for the night." It takes a moment, but soon you hear footsteps descending stairs within, then the sound of a lantern being lit, followed by faint light creeping through under the door. Finally, you hear the sound of a bolt being unlocked.

The door cracks open slightly, and you can see a wrinkled eye poking out. "I didn't think anyone still wandered these old roads," he says, his voice old and creaky. "What brings you 'round here, stranger?"

"I'm nothing but a simple wanderer," you reply. "I just seek shelter for the night."

He looks as though he's contemplating it. He seems wary, though that isn't unreasonable; if you were in his shoes, being woken in the dead of night by a large man with a large sword, you'd be wary as well. Finally, he opens the door wider, croaking out "Come in." You oblige.

Before you stands an older man, perhaps in his 60s, dressed in a faded blue woolen shirt and ragged breeches. "Welcome. My name is Oscar. What's yours, wanderer?"

"My name is Kit." You look around. The interior of the cabin is quaint, decorated with paintings and old wooden furniture. A hearth sits on the back wall, cooking utensils hanging above it, near stairs ascending to the second floor. "A nice home you have here."

"Thank you." Oscar gestures to the floor. "You're welcome to make yourself comfortable. Please, do not head to the second floor. My wife is attempting to sleep. She's been sick."

You nod. "I understand. Thank you, sir."

Oscar ascends the stairs, leaving you on the first floor. You lay down, and fall asleep.

In the morning, you wake to Oscar descending from the stairs. "Morning, sir. You're welcome to stay for breakfast if you want, I'm going to get wood for the hearth. And again, please do not disturb my wife. She's still dreadfully sick." With that, he heads to the door and leaves.

He's rather insistent that you not bother his wife. Is she really that sick? Maybe you can check for yourself. Or, you can wait for him to come back and then eat breakfast with him and be on your way.
> You no, you won't invade their privacy. You'll stay for breakfast then leave.
You stay put. Oscar comes back not long after with an armful of wood logs and grass, which he places into the hearth. You offer him your tinderbox, which he takes with a hum of thanks, before lighting the hearth. He begins to cook porridge, and hands you a bowl not long after. It's good.

After you finish up your breakfast, you gather your things and take your leave. He was quite a kind old man. You wonder if he and his wife will do alright all alone out here. Perhaps such a life... Would suit you. Perhaps.

A few days, maybe even weeks later, you find a worn-down cabin on the edge of a forest that is actually abandoned this time. You decide to give that life a shot, and find that it does suit you. It is there that you finally settle down, hunting and gathering for food.

Occasionally, travelers pass through on their own journeys, but they never stay long. Once or twice bandits have attempted to rob you, but once you retrieved your old sword and showed how well you can handle it, they quietly backed away... Most of them, anyhow. The fools that didn't? Well, you're lucky the stains came off easily with a bit of elbow grease.

Finally, you are at peace.

THE END


You take the path through the woods, being sure to light your lantern along the way. The ambient sounds of wildlife keep you on the alert. For every wolf's howl and twig snapped in the distance, your hand draws closer to the hilt of your sword. Still, nothing comes out to attack you, and you must be grateful for that.

The road carries you onwards for hours, until finally you must stop and rest. With a grunt, you begin to climb up into a large oak tree along the path, checking every branch until, finally, you find one that can support your weight. You kill your lantern and tie it to the branch using your rope. Setting your knapsack up against the tree, you lay down, and fall asleep.

The sound of shouting and the light of torches causes your eyes to snap open. Through the canopy of leaves you can see a faint glow, as though sunlight is fighting hard to break through and onto the path. On said path you see a large group of men wearing armor comprised of animal hides and worn out leather.

Marauders. They're a wandering group of bandits and raiders, accepting any who wish to fight with them. They make their living by ransacking and pillaging towns, and never stay in one place for long. Above all, they admire a fierce warrior, and rumor has it that if one can slay the leader of a Marauder band, then one may lead them.

Instinctively you reach for your sword, but stop as you realize that they can't see you unless they look up. They must be on the way to find a village, so that they can steal their valuables, kill them all, or rape the women. Perhaps even all three, if they're a particularly ambitious bunch.

You've fought these sorts before, and most often they'll fight tooth and nail until their leader is dead. Once that happens, they'll submit themselves to you willingly... That is, if you can survive long enough to reach their leader. If you got into a fight, you can't be sure you'll walk away from it alive.

But at the same time... Could you just sit by and let these men harass, or even kill, the innocent?
> You no, you can't. You have to do something.
You sit up and kneel on the branch. From that position, you watch for a moment, counting their numbers. Altogether, they're about four dozen. You've fought those odds before... Then again, you had your companions by your side. Even then, you can fight like a cornered animal if you try hard enough. Time to see if you still have it.

You pull your sword from your back and ready it, then jump down in a swing. The momentum of your fall slices right through three different men before they could even react. Their heads split right open like overripe watermelons, and the sword carries on through their bodies, cleaving them in half messily. Blood and guts cover your blade.

The others all stop their march and back away immediately, staring in awe at the mess you just created. There's an intense stare down between you and all of their numbers. Some have fear in their eyes, others anger, an odd few even respect. Most? A mixture of the three. The seconds tick by slowly, painfully, neither you nor the bandits wanting to make the first move, then...

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?" a gruff voice calls out. "ATTACK!"

Then, they're swarming you while yelling and swinging their weapons in a panic. You bring down a few with a single swing. A few cuts and stabs get through your defense. An arrow pierces your left bicep. Still, you fight madly, like an unchained beast.

Soon, you're attacking and defending on pure instinct. Adrenaline carries you as your body moves on its own. Too tired to think clearly. Can only act.

But it's in the repetition of swing, block, swing, block, that you find time to reflect.

What are you doing here?

Why are you doing this?

When did you go from being a hero to callously slaying bandits in the woods?

You're hurt. You're cold. You're hungry. You're tired. You're afraid.

But something still carries you.

That intense desire to live.

Like a flame that won't die out.

The question is...

Should the flame stay lit?
> The passion has died. You need to let go of your pitiful life.
You're past your prime. Nothing you do will make a difference in this world. It's time to let an old man die before he does something too rash.

Slowly, you stop fighting. More attacks get through your defenses. Fewer of your hits connect. Soon, it's just you standing there taking their punishment. A sword gets driven through your back. A spear impales you through the abdomen. An arrow flies into your throat.

Soon enough, you're nothing but a battered and unrecognizable corpse, lying in the road. You took 21 of their number with you. Nearly half their forces. They regard your corpse with a begrudging sense of respect. No one has given them such a fight before.

You're left slumped against a tree, sword in your lap. No one who passes through dares disturb your corpse, and soon, the earth retakes you.

THE END


You sit up and kneel on the branch. From that position, you watch for a moment, counting their numbers. Altogether, they're about four dozen. You've fought those odds before... Then again, you had your companions by your side. Even then, you can fight like a cornered animal if you try hard enough. Time to see if you still have it.

You pull your sword from your back and ready it, then jump down in a swing. The momentum of your fall slices right through three different men before they could even react. Their heads split right open like overripe watermelons, and the sword carries on through their bodies, cleaving them in half messily. Blood and guts cover your blade.

The others all stop their march and back away immediately, staring in awe at the mess you just created. There's an intense stare down between you and all of their numbers. Some have fear in their eyes, others anger, an odd few even respect. Most? A mixture of the three. The seconds tick by slowly, painfully, neither you nor the bandits wanting to make the first move, then...

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?" a gruff voice calls out. "ATTACK!"

Then, they're swarming you while yelling and swinging their weapons in a panic. You bring down a few with a single swing. A few cuts and stabs get through your defense. An arrow pierces your left bicep. Still, you fight madly, like an unchained beast.

Soon, you're attacking and defending on pure instinct. Adrenaline carries you as your body moves on its own. Too tired to think clearly. Can only act.

But it's in the repetition of swing, block, swing, block, that you find time to reflect.

What are you doing here?

Why are you doing this?

When did you go from being a hero to callously slaying bandits in the woods?

You're hurt. You're cold. You're hungry. You're tired. You're afraid.

But something still carries you.

That intense desire to live.

Like a flame that won't die out.

The question is...

Should the flame stay lit?
> The passion still burns within you. You won't let go. You'll fight until every bone is broken and your last drop of blood has spilled.
No. You won't go quietly. That fire, deep within your soul, it still burns as bright as it ever did. And no two-bit marauders will extinguish it. You swing with more force than you ever have before, take more punishment than you ever have before. Throwing caution to the wind as you try to take down as many of these bastards as you can.

After a while, you think you finally land a hit on their leader, and one hit is all you need. You can tell it's him by the glint of silver decorating his armor. When you land that blow, the others lose their fighting spirit. You plant your sword into the ground, panting as you catch your breath. Then, you turn to them with a sudden jerk of your head, a twisted grin on your face.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

They stare at you with shock and awe written on their faces. There's only about 16 left. One steps forward. "You... Killed our leader! And most of our band!"

"And I'll kill you too!" You bare your teeth at them for full effect.

Then, they fall to their knees and lay their faces on the ground. You stare at them, still thirsting for blood on your blade. One of them begins to yell, "Lead us into battle, worthy warrior! You've proven that you can kill dozens of men and carry on!"

They're offering you the now vacant spot as their leader.
> You you've nothing better to do. You'll take it.
You stare at them. Then, you grin. "Get your faces out of the mud. We've got a job to do." They all rise up from their bowing position, staring at you uncertainly. Your unsettling grin puts them even more on edge. "One of you! Patch up my wounds. We'll make camp for the night, then set out at dawn. We need to recruit more soldiers, then we'll see about raiding a town."

They all nod. Most of them begin to set up their tents, while others loot the bodies for any valuables. One of them comes over to you and sets to work on your wounds, he tells you he was a healer once upon a time, but grew bored of his life. He desired excitement, so he joined up with a band of raiders.

Perhaps this is what you needed. Excitement. And leading a band of raiders? Just your style.

Sunrise comes, and you set off into the world with your newfound band.

THE END


No. You won't go quietly. That fire, deep within your soul, it still burns as bright as it ever did. And no two-bit marauders will extinguish it. You swing with more force than you ever have before, take more punishment than you ever have before. Throwing caution to the wind as you try to take down as many of these bastards as you can.

After a while, you think you finally land a hit on their leader, and one hit is all you need. You can tell it's him by the glint of silver decorating his armor. When you land that blow, the others lose their fighting spirit. You plant your sword into the ground, panting as you catch your breath. Then, you turn to them with a sudden jerk of your head, a twisted grin on your face.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

They stare at you with shock and awe written on their faces. There's only about 16 left. One steps forward. "You... Killed our leader! And most of our band!"

"And I'll kill you too!" You bare your teeth at them for full effect.

Then, they fall to their knees and lay their faces on the ground. You stare at them, still thirsting for blood on your blade. One of them begins to yell, "Lead us into battle, worthy warrior! You've proven that you can kill dozens of men and carry on!"

They're offering you the now vacant spot as their leader.
> You won't stoop so low. They're pathetic bandits.
Rage bubbles within you. They think that you want that position? That you'll forgive them of their crimes? You're not going to give them that satisfaction. Instead, you raise your sword, and with a sweeping blow, take out four of them with one swing. The others realize what you're doing and try to run. They don't make it very far.

Soon, you're cleaning your blade in a stream outside of the forest, while binding your wounds. They did a number on you, but you suppose it's just more scars for the collection. It's almost comforting, in a way. Almost.

There's more injustice out there. If anything, now is the time to act.

You set out into the horizon, never once looking back.

THE END


In the late hours of the night, you set out for parts unknown.

On your back is your sword, chipped and dull. It's far too large to be called a sword; massive, heavy, far too rough. If anything, it's a hunk of raw iron. But it's yours, and a single swing with the large blade is enough to cut down three cavalrymen and their horses too. Beside it is your knapsack, carrying only raw essentials, such as food, a change of clothes, a tinderbox, lantern oil, and a jug of alcohol. Fifteen feet of rope in a coil is tied onto your belt, alongside a lantern.

For a moment you're leaving your home village with your friends. All of you are young, reckless, hopeful... But the nostalgia soon fades, and you realize what you're doing. You're not leaving to save the world, you're leaving to get away from your responsibilities. The thought makes you let out a dry, humorless laugh.

It's been so long since you've traveled. You almost forgot what it felt like, just you on the open road. It feels... Liberating, almost. Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders for the first time in years. As though you were holding the world high above you, and only now can you take a break. But you don't hold onto that feeling, for you know well enough that it will distract you from any dangers on the road...

Soon enough, you come upon a fork in the road. One road leads into the forest. You're unlikely to come across any other people on this road, only wilderness as far as the eye can see. The other road is a common trade route, with villages dotting it every few miles. Either way, wherever you go, you'll be traveling far away from the place you once called home.
> You take the trade route.
You take the path that eventually merges back onto the main roads. This is a common route for wandering merchants or supply caravans, with villages darting the path every couple of miles. The entire route itself from where you are is about 30 miles, where it runs into the city of Sodran and then disappears, assimilated into the highways.

The villages in these areas all make their profits in a variety of ways. Some survive off of hunting and gathering, others fishing, most farming. One village, from what you've heard, even makes money by hiring off the able-bodied men and women to traveling merchants in need of protection. Whatever gets the bills paid and keeps food on the table, you suppose.

It's an hour into your march that you come across the first village. There's an inn right on the edge of the town that's still open. The lit lanterns within seep through the windows, as if a beacon guiding weary travelers to the doorstep. On the side of the inn is a small stable, where some horses and a mule reside. The horses have everything from a simple saddle to a whole pack of belongings tied to them, and the mule has a pack of wares strapped to its back.

You can stop at the inn for the night. It would be nice to sleep in a warm bed. Still, you don't want to get distracted; you can just carry on through the night to put as much distance between you and your former estate as you can.
> You you'll rent a room at the inn.
As you walk past the stable to the inn's door, a woman, looking to be in her late 20s, walks out of the stables. Her hands are calloused and her fair skin tinged red, no doubt from working under the sun all day. As she spots you, she looks surprised for a moment, before smiling. "Oh, hello sir! Stopping at the inn for the night? I was just about to head in myself."

You grunt out something resembling a "yes", and she nods. "The place is real nice, sir. My father runs it, I manage the stables for him. My name is Eliza, what would yours be?" She extends a hand, perhaps thinking you'll shake it. You don't, and after an awkward moment she withdraws it.

You do, however, give her a response. "Kit."

"That's a nice name, sir." She smiles at you still. You continue to frown. Eventually, her shining grin falters, and she looks worried. "Something wrong, sir?"

"I didn't come here to chat."

Her face falls a bit more, but she regains her smile. "Of course not, sir. I'm sorry if I held you up. Let's go."

"Right." You move to leave. Eliza follows after you, and you turn to look at her over your shoulder. "Oh, and stop saying sir at the end of every sentence. Makes you seem uptight." Her face falls a bit at that, but she keeps her smile plastered on her face.

As you open the door to the inn, a pleasant warmth hits you in the face. You step inside, Eliza following after you. The entrance of the inn is empty save for a man behind a wooden counter up front, tapping the counter with his finger. He looks at you, and a smile makes its way onto his face, disturbing his bushy mustache. "Ah, Eliza! Welcome back. Who's this, potential customer?"

"Yes, father. His name is Kit. Kit, this is my father, Isaiah. Go on, sir... Um, I mean, Kit." Good, she caught herself.

You step forward to the man behind the counter, staring down at his sitting form. "How much for a room?" you ask.

"Just 5 gold pieces a night, sir. Throw in an extra coin for as many drinks as you can have." That piques your interest. You open your coin pouch and pull out six coins, tossing them onto the counter. The owner takes a moment to count them out, before he nods. He slips the coins into a lockbox under the counter, before grabbing a key from behind him. "Very good, sir. Here's your room key, room 8."

You nod at him, taking the key from his hands and looking around. "There's a dining hall to the right," Isaiah points to an archway. "You can get your drinks there if you want. We have ale, wine, fruit juice, and water."

"Alright." You pocket your key, then head straight for the dining room. Heading through the doorway, you see that it's far more lively in here, different people milling about and sitting at different tables. You spot a few interesting folks, but one really catches your eye: a man with tanned skin, dressed in clothing made of brightly colored textiles. He must be a wandering merchant from the distant lands of Cikoni.

You wonder what he's doing here. Maybe he could use a guard, could get you a steady source of income and get you far away from the kingdom. Alternatively, you can just get your drink and sit by yourself.
> You speak to the wandering merchant.
Grabbing your drink, you head on over to the wandering merchant's table. You note a pipe hanging from his mouth, a strange crushed up substance within it; upon closer inspection, the substance appears to be sharp and jagged like glass, and glows a faint blue. You know what the substance is: Cikoni Crab Shells, a popular recreational drug hailing from the beaches of Cikoni. To make it, one has to find a Cikoni Long Crab, which possesses a strangely potent amount of magic within its shell, and kill it. Then, they crush it up, either to a fine paste or to shards like the merchant has it; from what you heard it determines how harsh the taste is.

As you stop to recollect your knowledge on what's within the pipe, a small flickering flame bursts from his fingertips with a snap. He sticks his finger into the crab shells, taking a moment to let the fire melt them down, and before long the pipe has been lit. He's a mage, though you should have expected that; most who hail from Cikoni are mages after all.

You slide into the chair across from him as he puffs on his pipe. He looks up at you, gives a little nod and speaks, "Anything important, traveler?"

You lean forward. "I need work, and a way out of this kingdom. I can give you strong arms and protection if you hire me on. In exchange you don't ask about who I am or what I did."

You must have appealed to his shadier side, as the man smiles a bit. "Ah, a man after my own heart, I see. I understand. Since I assume names are on the list of things I should not ask about, I won't. My name is Gi'anti, and I'm a traveling merchant of sorts."

"You can call me whatever you wish. I just need a way out of here."

At that, Gi'anti grins and lets out a puff of smoke. "Well then. I shall call you T'kanka. Please, tell me your room number, so I may wake you when we set off tomorrow."

With your luck, that means rodent in their language. Still, it'll do. "It's room 8. When do we set off?"

"At dawn. Get some sleep, T'kanka, for you will need it." With that, Gi'anti extinguishes the Crab Shells and departs for his room, leaving you to finish your drink alone. At the very least, you got a way out of this kingdom now.

You finish your drink, head up to your room, and pass out in the bed not long afterwards. A few hours later you awake to a pounding on your door and dim sunlight shining onto your face through the window. You get up out of bed, and open the door. There, Gi'anti greets you. "Ah, T'kanka. Was worried I'd have to knock your door down, for I almost thought you were dead in there."

You rub the sleep out of your eyes. "Needed the sleep. We setting off now?"

Gi'anti nods. "Come along, T'kanka." He gestures for you to follow, which you do. He leads you out of the inn and to the stable, where he unhooks the mule you saw last night and grabs a lead. "We'll be setting off through the woods and heading through to the city of Tolast. If we run into trouble on the way, you put that sword of yours to use, eh T'kanka?"

You nod. "Right."

And so, the two of you walk off into the wilderness.
> You continue
Over the next week, the two of you make small talk. Gi'anti is an interesting fellow, with a lot to say on various herbs and plants you come across in the forest. One particular time, he points out a faintly red leaf, and says, "That there is what they call sorem incenti, it's a medical leaf used for treating wounds caused by magic."

"Hm. So if, say, you threw a fireball at me, we'd just plant some sorem incenti on me and I'd be fine?" Your response causes him to let out a laugh, which makes you frown. "What's so funny?"

"T'kanka, if I hit you with a fireball, all you'd need is aloe vera. I'm not a very accomplished mage!" He continues to laugh heartily, and despite yourself you also let out a small chuckle. "If I was a powerful mage, I wouldn't have need of your assistance, no?"

"I suppose not."

The two of you continue on into the woods, bantering during the day and resting during the night. A few times you nearly let slip some of your old stories, but you doubt the man would care any for them. Plus, he silences you before you can get started on them anyhow. One night you almost mention your old friends when Gi'anti holds up a hand. "I enjoy your company, T'kanka, but I'd prefer if our relationship be kept professional. No point getting attached if you're going to leave anyway."

Eventually, the two of you pass through the city of Tolast, Gi'anti selling some of his crab shells to anyone looking for a fix. He sells a particularly large amount to a noble passing through, who gives him a nice stack of gold coins in exchange. The mule is extra burdened from then on due to the sheer size of the bag of gold.

Eventually, the two of you cross the border from the Kingdom of Oren to the Empire of Kishak, after about a month on the road. "I would appreciate if you would stay on my caravan, T'kanka," Gi'anti says while the two of you set up camp for the night. "But I understand if you wish to leave. We've come far, and that was all you wished to do."

You have a decision to make. Will you stay on with Gi'anti, continuing your travels together, or depart come sunrise?
> You gi'anti has become something of a friend over this last month. You will gladly stay on the caravan with him.
You nod. "I'll gladly stay with you, Gi'anti. Come hell or high water, I'll be here with you, my friend." With those words, you finish setting up your camp. Gi'anti grins brightly at you.

"I am glad to hear it, T'kanka..." He pauses, pondering his next words. "Do you know what T'kanka means, my friend?"

You shake your head. "No."

"It's the name of a legendary warrior, where I come from. T'kanka, the Wandering King. Able to slay an army with one swing of his sword, able to traverse thousands of miles in a single day, and able to survive no matter how many times he is struck. Of course, these are all myths, but T'kanka was a real man. Legend has it that after his death, his body denied this fact, and he continued to roam, forever." Gi'anti leans forward. "I saw in your eyes the same spirit that I imagine T'kanka to have."

You suppose you must be flattered by that, so you crack Gi'anti a small smile. The two of you then begin to banter again, as you've done in the past month, and finally lay down to sleep. Come sunrise, the two of you will continue onward together. You know that you've made a brother for life in him, and you could not be any gladder.

In the morning light, the two of you pack up and leave, never once looking back.

THE END


Over the next week, the two of you make small talk. Gi'anti is an interesting fellow, with a lot to say on various herbs and plants you come across in the forest. One particular time, he points out a faintly red leaf, and says, "That there is what they call sorem incenti, it's a medical leaf used for treating wounds caused by magic."

"Hm. So if, say, you threw a fireball at me, we'd just plant some sorem incenti on me and I'd be fine?" Your response causes him to let out a laugh, which makes you frown. "What's so funny?"

"T'kanka, if I hit you with a fireball, all you'd need is aloe vera. I'm not a very accomplished mage!" He continues to laugh heartily, and despite yourself you also let out a small chuckle. "If I was a powerful mage, I wouldn't have need of your assistance, no?"

"I suppose not."

The two of you continue on into the woods, bantering during the day and resting during the night. A few times you nearly let slip some of your old stories, but you doubt the man would care any for them. Plus, he silences you before you can get started on them anyhow. One night you almost mention your old friends when Gi'anti holds up a hand. "I enjoy your company, T'kanka, but I'd prefer if our relationship be kept professional. No point getting attached if you're going to leave anyway."

Eventually, the two of you pass through the city of Tolast, Gi'anti selling some of his crab shells to anyone looking for a fix. He sells a particularly large amount to a noble passing through, who gives him a nice stack of gold coins in exchange. The mule is extra burdened from then on due to the sheer size of the bag of gold.

Eventually, the two of you cross the border from the Kingdom of Oren to the Empire of Kishak, after about a month on the road. "I would appreciate if you would stay on my caravan, T'kanka," Gi'anti says while the two of you set up camp for the night. "But I understand if you wish to leave. We've come far, and that was all you wished to do."

You have a decision to make. Will you stay on with Gi'anti, continuing your travels together, or depart come sunrise?
> You much as you enjoy his company, you need to leave. You'll tell him as much.
You shake your head. "I'm sorry, Gi'anti, but I must go. I enjoyed our time together but I need to carve my own path in this world. I'll leave come sunrise." With those words you finish setting up your tent. Gi'anti sighs, shakes his head a bit. Still, he smiles.

"Do you know what T'kanka means, my friend?"

You shake your head. "No."

"It's the name of a legendary warrior, where I come from. T'kanka, the Wandering King. Able to slay an army with one swing of his sword, able to traverse thousands of miles in a single day, and able to survive no matter how many times he is struck. Of course, these are all myths, but T'kanka was a real man. Legend has it that after his death, his body denied this fact, and he continued to roam, forever." Gi'anti leans forward. "I saw in your eyes the same spirit that I imagine T'kanka to have."

You suppose you must be flattered by that, so you crack Gi'anti a small smile. The two of you then begin to banter again, as you've done in the past month, and finally lay down to sleep. Come sunrise, you may never see this man again. But you know that you've made a brother for life in him.

In the morning light, you leave, never once looking back.

THE END


As you walk past the stable to the inn's door, a woman, looking to be in her late 20s, walks out of the stables. Her hands are calloused and her fair skin tinged red, no doubt from working under the sun all day. As she spots you, she looks surprised for a moment, before smiling. "Oh, hello sir! Stopping at the inn for the night? I was just about to head in myself."

You grunt out something resembling a "yes", and she nods. "The place is real nice, sir. My father runs it, I manage the stables for him. My name is Eliza, what would yours be?" She extends a hand, perhaps thinking you'll shake it. You don't, and after an awkward moment she withdraws it.

You do, however, give her a response. "Kit."

"That's a nice name, sir." She smiles at you still. You continue to frown. Eventually, her shining grin falters, and she looks worried. "Something wrong, sir?"

"I didn't come here to chat."

Her face falls a bit more, but she regains her smile. "Of course not, sir. I'm sorry if I held you up. Let's go."

"Right." You move to leave. Eliza follows after you, and you turn to look at her over your shoulder. "Oh, and stop saying sir at the end of every sentence. Makes you seem uptight." Her face falls a bit at that, but she keeps her smile plastered on her face.

As you open the door to the inn, a pleasant warmth hits you in the face. You step inside, Eliza following after you. The entrance of the inn is empty save for a man behind a wooden counter up front, tapping the counter with his finger. He looks at you, and a smile makes its way onto his face, disturbing his bushy mustache. "Ah, Eliza! Welcome back. Who's this, potential customer?"

"Yes, father. His name is Kit. Kit, this is my father, Isaiah. Go on, sir... Um, I mean, Kit." Good, she caught herself.

You step forward to the man behind the counter, staring down at his sitting form. "How much for a room?" you ask.

"Just 5 gold pieces a night, sir. Throw in an extra coin for as many drinks as you can have." That piques your interest. You open your coin pouch and pull out six coins, tossing them onto the counter. The owner takes a moment to count them out, before he nods. He slips the coins into a lockbox under the counter, before grabbing a key from behind him. "Very good, sir. Here's your room key, room 8."

You nod at him, taking the key from his hands and looking around. "There's a dining hall to the right," Isaiah points to an archway. "You can get your drinks there if you want. We have ale, wine, fruit juice, and water."

"Alright." You pocket your key, then head straight for the dining room. Heading through the doorway, you see that it's far more lively in here, different people milling about and sitting at different tables. You spot a few interesting folks, but one really catches your eye: a man with tanned skin, dressed in clothing made of brightly colored textiles. He must be a wandering merchant from the distant lands of Cikoni.

You wonder what he's doing here. Maybe he could use a guard, could get you a steady source of income and get you far away from the kingdom. Alternatively, you can just get your drink and sit by yourself.
> You just get your drink.
You decide not to bother the wandering trader, instead taking a seat at a table by your lonesome. Eventually, the trader gets up and leaves, heading back to his room for the night. You never see him again. After a few more drinks, you stumble out of the dining hall and up the stairs to your room. There, you throw your sword and knapsack to the floor, before passing out on your bed.

In the morning, you awake to a woman's scream. Groggily, you get up, heading to the door so you can see what the hell is going on - grabbing your sword along the way, of course. When you head down the stairs, you see a pair of thugs roughing up the owner, Isaiah. His daughter Eliza watches on, tears streaming from her eyes, as a third thug holds her back. The two harassing Isaiah stick a lit cigar into his face. This time, it's Isaiah who screams.

The thugs laugh at him, sadistic grins on their faces. Your stomach turns. This is disgusting.

Then, one of the thugs turns his head and looks at you. He whistles, the other two looking at you soon after. One with a strange piercing in his nose lets out a laugh. "Oi, you! Quit yer starin' and get outta here, chump." Perhaps you should do something about this, or not. After all, this doesn't involve you.
> The sick bastards. You'll strike them down.
You unsheathe your blade, pointing it at the bastards. One of them gulps almost imperceptibly, but the one who spoke to you just lets out another nasty laugh. "Wanna play hero, eh?" He callously drops Isaiah, pulls a mace from his side. The others follow suit, pulling out their own weapons; one has a curved blade, the other a pair of daggers. This should be easy.

You leap forward and swing, managing to decapitate the one with daggers easily. Blood gushes from his neck, before he falls to the floor, lifeless. This manages to scare the other two, but mace guy nudges sword guy, the latter nodding before rushing forward to cut at you. You don't bother to use your sword on him, instead ducking out of the way of his swing then tripping him up. Then you use the sword, cutting him right in half with one swing while he lies on the ground.

At this point, mace is quaking in fear. He drops his weapon, raising his hands and getting on his knees. "I-I surrender! Please, don't kill me!" You step forward, planning on delivering the killing blow...

But mace leaps up and pulls a dagger from his boot! His speed surprises you, and he manages to catch you with a glancing blow. Instantly, you begin to feel light-headed, almost unsteady. Still, you swing, cutting off his arm and wedging your blade deep into his side. He lets out an ungodly scream, then dies.

You grin, give a little chuckle. Then you collapse.

When you awaken next, you're in a soft bed, a bandage wrapped around your wound. It throbs still, and your throat is parched. A soft groan escapes your lips, then you grunt out, "water", hoping someone may hear you. There's a slight shuffling, then a cup of water is handed to you. You look up at who gave it to you, and there stands Eliza. She smiles.

"I can't thank you enough for what you did... But you've brought trouble to the village at the same time. There was one watching outside, he told his leader about what happened. They came to town early this morning and said that if we don't surrender all our goods, they'll raze the place. We have until tomorrow to decide."

"Really..." The word that escape your lips comes out less as a question and more as a statement.

"Yes, really."

"How long have I been out?"

"4 days now. The dagger was poisoned. We got our healer to work on you, you should be fine if you rest another few days."

That gets you to jolt up, hissing slightly as you grip your wound. "I can't. I have to leave."

"Please, just relax. You'll be better soon. We plan to surrender to them. And as far as they know, you're dead; we hid you well. You'll be safe to rest here."

Hmph. So they're giving up, simple as that? Back in your day the people would have fought back tooth and nail. What are you going to do?
> You you'll leave. Now. There's no reason to defend those who won't defend themselves.
You pretend that you'll stay to rest, and convince Eliza you'll be fine by yourself. She leaves the room, and after a minute, you get up and search for your things. Thankfully, they left them right at the foot of the bed. Fools, probably didn't expect you to try and leave.

You get into your clothes and throw on your knapsack, securing your sword onto your back. You open the door, seeing that it leads outside; it's night time, which means your escape will be easier. Keeping down low, you sneak to the edge of the village, where you finally stand, noting that your escape went unnoticed. You prepare to walk away...

"So you are leaving."

Turning, you see Eliza standing there. She looks sad, but smiles nonetheless. "I knew you would. You didn't strike me as the type to be patient and rest. Am I right?"

"Right." You turn your back on her. "You won't convince me to stay. I'll recover on my own."

"I figured as much." She sighs. "I wish you well on your travels, Kit." Then, she turns and leaves.

You continue onwards into the night.

THE END


You unsheathe your blade, pointing it at the bastards. One of them gulps almost imperceptibly, but the one who spoke to you just lets out another nasty laugh. "Wanna play hero, eh?" He callously drops Isaiah, pulls a mace from his side. The others follow suit, pulling out their own weapons; one has a curved blade, the other a pair of daggers. This should be easy.

You leap forward and swing, managing to decapitate the one with daggers easily. Blood gushes from his neck, before he falls to the floor, lifeless. This manages to scare the other two, but mace guy nudges sword guy, the latter nodding before rushing forward to cut at you. You don't bother to use your sword on him, instead ducking out of the way of his swing then tripping him up. Then you use the sword, cutting him right in half with one swing while he lies on the ground.

At this point, mace is quaking in fear. He drops his weapon, raising his hands and getting on his knees. "I-I surrender! Please, don't kill me!" You step forward, planning on delivering the killing blow...

But mace leaps up and pulls a dagger from his boot! His speed surprises you, and he manages to catch you with a glancing blow. Instantly, you begin to feel light-headed, almost unsteady. Still, you swing, cutting off his arm and wedging your blade deep into his side. He lets out an ungodly scream, then dies.

You grin, give a little chuckle. Then you collapse.

When you awaken next, you're in a soft bed, a bandage wrapped around your wound. It throbs still, and your throat is parched. A soft groan escapes your lips, then you grunt out, "water", hoping someone may hear you. There's a slight shuffling, then a cup of water is handed to you. You look up at who gave it to you, and there stands Eliza. She smiles.

"I can't thank you enough for what you did... But you've brought trouble to the village at the same time. There was one watching outside, he told his leader about what happened. They came to town early this morning and said that if we don't surrender all our goods, they'll raze the place. We have until tomorrow to decide."

"Really..." The word that escape your lips comes out less as a question and more as a statement.

"Yes, really."

"How long have I been out?"

"4 days now. The dagger was poisoned. We got our healer to work on you, you should be fine if you rest another few days."

That gets you to jolt up, hissing slightly as you grip your wound. "I can't. I have to leave."

"Please, just relax. You'll be better soon. We plan to surrender to them. And as far as they know, you're dead; we hid you well. You'll be safe to rest here."

Hmph. So they're giving up, simple as that? Back in your day the people would have fought back tooth and nail. What are you going to do?
> You you'll defend them from the raiders come tomorrow. They need it.
You shake your head vehemently. "No. I won't stand by while you all give in to worthless bandits. I'll stay, and fight them off tomorrow."

Eliza's eyes widen. "You're still hurt! They're near fifty strong, if you fight them, you'll die!" She's begging you particularly hard.

"I've fought worse odds. I can handle them." To prove your point, you get out of the bed and stand up, Eliza moving quickly to sit you back down. You shrug her hands off.

"Please, don't. These men will slaughter you."

"I can do it." You shoulder your way past her, to your knapsack. There, you slip into your clothing, and grab your sword. "I'll watch for them. When they come, I'll kill them all." A bloodthirsty grin makes its way onto your face. "Watch." Ignoring any further pleas from Eliza, you carry onward and leave the room. You see that it's a small hut, the only door leading directly outside; it's night, which means you have time to set up.

You go to the largest tree in the center of the village, scaling up it and sitting on a branch. There, you wait. And wait. Then you wait some more.

The sun is high in the sky, the villagers are out in the fields, and your ass is sore by the time the raiders finally do come. The villagers milling about pause in their work as they watch them, all with fear written on their faces. The raider leader, a large and burly man in chainmail, raises his arms up high. "People of this fair village! We have come to accept your surrender. Should you resist, we'll kill all of you. So please, resist."

Isaiah steps forward, head down low. You note the bandage on his cheek, where the cigar was jammed into his face. "Please, don't harm us. We surrender. You are free to take all the supplies we have."

The raider leader lets out a small tsk, shaking his head. "Really? That's all? How disappointing." You're about to jump down and attack him, when...

"I guess we'll just have to kill you anyway." The raider leader pulls out his sword and runs it through Isaiah's chest. Your blood begins to pump viciously. "Kill them all."

That's when you finally jump from the branch. You were too late. Isaiah is dead, because you took too long to just jump down and kill them. You're no hero.

You land on top of the nearest raider, his head crushing beneath the weight of your boot. The others quickly turn their eyes to you and stare in awe. You unsheathe your sword, then start swinging with a primal yell. A few men are taken down by your blade, while the others go on the attack. You bring up your blade occasionally to block attacks, swinging when you see an opening. It's a slaughter for them.

By the time you take down a few dozen, the others begin to retreat. Their leader yells at them, calls them cowards, but stands his ground. "FINE!" He unsheathes a blade of his own. "I'll do it myself!" He goes on the attack, swinging the sword at you. You block it, then swing, but the raider manages to leap out of the way. Damn, if you weren't still recovering, you could have gotten him. Still, it's been a long while since someone managed to dodge one of your attacks. This should be fun.

The two of you continue on like that for a while; he strikes, you block, you strike, he dodges. It's almost like a dance between two experienced partners. This man, he's well trained, and a far better swordsman than you are. There's one difference though, and that is while you lack strength, you make up for it in raw power.

It also helps that you picked the winning side in this battle.

Slowly, the villagers start to gather courage. Before you know it, rocks are being pelted at the raider. He ignores them well enough, but they throw him off enough that he starts to barely evade your attacks. Then, after a longer time, some start pushing forward with pitchforks and other tools in hand. They attack, but the raider attacks back and they retreat before they get killed.

But, their attacks are all you need, and soon, one of your swings eventually makes its way into his hip. He lets out a yell of agony, dropping his blade and falling into a kneel. You don't waste any time letting him have his last words, instead bringing the blade down right onto his head, bisecting it down the middle.

There is silence.

Then, defeaning cheers.

The town is safe. You've done it.

There are no celebrations afterwards however. The bodies of the raiders are burned, Isaiah is brought to his daughter. The others return to their homes, some continue to work. Eliza picks out a plot in the cemetary, and the gravekeeper gets to work. You approach her as she watches. Her father has been set down in a coffin not far from the grave.

Her eyes are red and puffy. She's been crying all day, no doubt. You place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him," you say.

She turns to look at you, no malice whatsoever on her face. "I know."

"What will you do now? Manage the inn?"

She sighs, shakes her head. "I don't know. My father was all I had."

You nod. "... I'll leave you be."

Then, you walk away.

You have a decision to make. Stay here in this village and live out the rest of your days, or continue onwards into the great unknown.
> You you'll stay here. Perhaps you can help the people that way.
The next day, you knock on a random villager's door, and ask for a job. He knows that you saved the village, so he gladly gets you work tending to the fields. It's hard work, but they provide you with a nice home and let you take some of the harvest for food. It's a good way of life, you suppose.

You keep Eliza company when you're off work. She decided to stay in the town, managing the inn like her father before her. It takes her a while, but eventually, she's back to her usual self. Smiling softly, being as kind as possible, and working hard. But you see in her eyes that she won't be able to recover fully anytime soon. You know the pain. One may be able to put on the guise of being back to normal, but they'll never be the same deep down.

You continue to spend your days tending to the fields, visiting Eliza after work or on your days off, and making friends around the village. It's a nice life, you'd say. Eventually, you integrate so well into the village's society, that it's almost like you've been there your whole life.

Finally, you are at peace.

THE END