text: 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