text: Without a moment’s hesitation, you turn and rush the bandits. You are the fledgling hero of this story after all, and the hero always wins. The bandits either agree or are too shocked by your blazen stupidity and gawk at you as you close the gap.
  
  
  By the time one of them gathers his wits, three of them are dead at your feet. A bolt grazes your cheek as you cut the fourth man down. The fifth man, who fired the bolt, turns to flee back into the forest. He does not make it. Jon skewers him from behind.
  
  
  “That’s going to be quite the scar,” says Jon. “It’s not so much a deforming scar as a handsome, charismatic scar. All great heroes get them. Chicks dig it.”
  
  
  “I don’t have one,” whines Samwellington.
  
  
  Jon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I wonder why.”
  
  
  The three of you hobble back to the hamlet. You have one of the priests help draft a report of the incident and send a runner to deliver it to the baron. Some unimportant nobodies go clean up the mess while you kick back and relax. Not bad for a (k)night’s work.
  
  
  “Good work today kid, but don’t get ahead of yourself kid,” says Jon. “You still have a long way to go to be a true knight. It takes hard work to bang a princess and ride off into the sunset. Oh, and remember.”
  
  
  “Dodge,” you say in unison.
  
  
  The baron is pleased with what he reads in the report. You become Bowie’s replacement in the hamlet guard and undertake some other minor missions with Jon and Samwellington. Soon you become a bit of a celebrity and inspiration, and your fame goes countywide. Priests take time out of their day to tutor you in your letters, and the baron invites you and Jon to take place in the next tournament he’s hosting. The king will even be there; it is supposed to be quite the shindig. Things are looking up. All you have to decide now is what event you are going to compete.
  > You compete in the melee.
  It is best to stick with your strong suits. You have combat training and can dodge with the best of them in the melee. From what you understand, dodging is frowned upon in jousting. Besides, you would have to borrow a horse from someone, and you do not have the money to ransom the horse if you lose. Debtors do not make good heroes.
  
  
  Jon decides to enter the melee as well.
  
  
  The morning of the tournament dawns crisp and cool with a slight breeze, just enough to give the ladies’ skirts a nice billowing. You feel a familiar stirring in your loins, and it is driving you insane. As a fledgling hero, you have been saving yourself for your future princess bride, but dear God has it left you on edge, not that you have not had offers. Jon was right; your scar is a chick magnet. You practically have to beat them off.
  
  
  A gaggle of girls giggle as you walk past them. Bitches.
  
  
  Whoa, where did that come from? That is not very heroic. The proper term is ‘wenches.’ Remember that next time, fledgling hero.
  
  
  With your minor slip into villainy over, you prepare for the melee and take your place in the fighting field. There appear to be fifty or so participants as you try to pick out some of the people the Baron told you about. You see Mad Moose McDoogle in his clumsy antlered helmet, Sir Richard Lionsmane with his shaggy locks, Sir Henry Williams a.k.a. The Rabid Fox, the Weasel brothers in their matching silver gilded armor, and Bucktooth Barry among others.
  
  
  “Save your energy,” says Jon. “Let the others wear themselves down. They’ll make a mistake eventually. Then you can strike when they’re weak and out of position. And stay by me. We might both be able to get knighthoods out of this.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I got your back Jon.”
  
  
  A blast from the bugle signals the start of the melee. The clamor of blunted steel on blunted steel rings through the fairgrounds. You and Jon fight back-to-back, just as you did against those trolls several years ago. You two are not the only ones fighting on teams. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Weasel brothers and Mad Moose McDoogle charge The Rabid Fox.
  
  
  The Rabid Fox looses ground as the trio attempt to surround him. He isn’t dodging. He’s parrying. He’s done for. The Rabid Fox’s and one of the Weasel brother’s swords shatter on impact. Mad Moose McDoogle peels off the attack and rounds on the Weasel brothers, catching them unaware. He knocks them both down and out just before The Rabid Fox charges him in turn.
  
  
  A sword slashes inches from your cheek, and you regain your focus. Dodge, slash, dodge, dodge, slash, dodge, trip, kick. Another one bites the dust.
  
  
  The fighting continues until there is just you, Jon, The Rabid Fox, who has not only obtained a new sword but a horse as well, and Bucktooth Barry left.
  
  
  Maybe you should turn on Jon now?