text: Damn these sick bastards. Robbing and killing the innocent. You jump out of the carriage and begin to chase after them. Faintly, you hear Bertrand yelling at you, but the pounding of your head as a cold rage runs through you blocks out any sounds but the woman's screams. You chase the highwaymen down; it doesn't take long, you find them just as one tackles the noble woman to the ground. The others haven't noticed you yet.
  
  You draw your blade, making sure that the chain keeping it tied to your back clinks loud enough for them to hear. They whip around, glaring at you; their eyes hold a mixture of primal rage and fear. One bares rotting yellow teeth at you, snarling like a dog. You put both hands on your sword, keeping a firm grip on it, waiting for them to make the first move. You don't have to wait long, as Yellow Teeth runs at you screaming, flailing two axes around as though he's a barbarian of the Northern Wildlands. You smoothly sidestep his charge, then bring your sword down at his legs. His upper body is sent flying upwards as your sword slices through his thighs and out the other side.
  
  The other three highwaymen stare at their dying ally, the fear overcoming their rage. You draw your sword back and swing at nothing, the blood flying off. Droplets land on their faces. "Leave the woman alone, or you'll wind up like your friend," you say. To seal your threat, you take a step forward, and they immediately back off and begin running. You draw a dagger from your boot, stabbing it into the dying bandit's throat as you approach the woman to make sure she's okay.
  
  "Hurt?" you ask, kneeling down next to the noble woman as she lays on the ground. She's hyperventiliating, looking around with wild eyes, before turning over and vomiting on the grass. You pat her on the back to help her get it out, then shake your head. "It's normal the first few times something like this happens. Once the adrenaline wears off, you feel sick to your stomach. Get up." You offer a hand, which she accepts.
  
  "T-thank you, sir. I can never repay you. Those... Those thugs attacked my carriage, killed my driver and the stole all my valuables. I... I don't know how I can make it back home." She sighs, shaking her head. "I'll just have to walk, I suppose."
  
  "Where were you going?" you ask, already wishing you hadn't.
  
  "Elkstern Keep. Have you heard of it?"
  
  You have, actually. It was one of the stops on your journey twenty years ago... And is in the opposite direction of Castle Oren, about two hundred miles away in fact. You'd have to arrive much later or even cancel your trip if you were to escort her.
  > you'll just have to wish her luck and give her directions to the nearest town.
  You sigh, shaking your head. "Wish I could help you, but I have urgent matters to attend to and Elkstern Keep is too far away. There's a town about ten miles down the road, a few small villages and hamlets along the way. Maybe you can see if a caravan is heading there."
  
  She nods. "Thank you again for saving me, sir. I'll head there now." You walk her to the road, and see her off. Bertrand watches from the driver's seat of the carriage, a loaded crossbow in his hands. After the noble woman is no longer in sight, you climb back up and sit next to Bertrand.
  
  "Shall we go now, sir?"
  
  "Yes. Let's go."
  
  Bertrand spurs the horses into action, and the two of you continue on. You're forced to set up camp for the night along the road, but you can see Castle Oren in the distance. You'll be there not long after you get up in the morning.
  
  Your blade rests in your lap as you clean it with a rag and some water. Bertrand stirs the fire with a stick, then quirks a brow at you. "Why did you agree, sir?"
  
  "Agree to what?" you ask.
  
  "Agree to go to Castle Oren."
  
  You sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Not entirely sure of that myself. I just figured it was better than wasting away at home." You pause, and trace a finger along the flat of your blade. "... Truth is I feel like I need to prove something to myself. That I still have what it takes."
  
  "Judging by the blood I saw on your blade, you still do."
  
  A mirthless chuckle escapes your lips. "Maybe. Maybe I just got lucky. Sword this size, I could cut a horse in half once I get it going. There's no skill involved when it comes to wielding a blade like this, only blind luck."
  
  Bertrand nods. "I should be turning in now. I suggest you do too." He gets up from the fire and lays down on a blanket he has sprawled out, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep in moments. You watch his sleeping form for a moment, before setting your sword down and laying on your own blanket. Though you toss and turn for a bit, exhaustion takes over and you fall into your first dreamless sleep in years.
  
  In the morning, you and Bertrand pack your things up and begin the last stretch to the Castle.
  > continue
  You arrive at Castle Oren around lunch time. The castle is large and imposing, made of stone that has gathered a fair bit of moss over the years. It was built a thousand years before your time, and still stands after all this time with only minor renovations to keep it up. A town surrounds the castle, full of shops and inns and homes and other assorted buildings. People mill about, paying you no mind as the carriage rolls up to the castle gates.
  
  The guards there stand at attention, waiting for you to make a move. A young man in knight's armor approaches your carriage. He takes his helmet off, revealing a youthful yet stern face with sandy blond hair and grey eyes. The knight salutes you. "Sir Kit?" he asks. You nod, and the man smiles. "My name is Sir Miller of the Gold Hawk Knights. Welcome to Castle Oren." He nods at the guards, who open the gates. Your carriage rides through, and Miller follows.
  
  Inside the castle grounds, you park your carriage and climb off. Bertrand stands behind you, while you address Miller. "When can I see the King?" you ask.
  
  "Come along, I'll take you to him." Miller walks away. You follow closely behind, examining the castle grounds. The courtyard leading into the castle is home to many trees and flowers, a few of which you've never even seen. The King's gardeners must take their work very seriously.
  
  You head into the castle proper, in an entrance hall that doubles as a throne room. The King is nowhere in sight, and Miller continues on past the throne and to a door not far from it. As you step into the room, you see a man in fine clothing sitting at a desk. The desk houses a golden crown. The King is around his mid thirties, though the wrinkles in his face and the gray streaking his hair indicates a man at least a decade older.
  
  "Your highness. Sir Kit has arrived," Miller says. The King looks up from his writing at you, and gives a faint smile. He waves Miller off, and the young knight departs from the room. Bertrand follows close behind, assuming the King doesn't want an audience.
  
  "Sir Kit. It is an honor to finally meet you." The King stands from the desk and approaches you. He's only a bit shorter than you, impressive considering your bulky stature, though his posture and build indicates he's never been a fight before. He sticks out a hand for you to shake, which you do.
  
  "The honor is all mine, your highness," you say, though rather half-heartedly.
  
  The King laughs. "Let's skip the formalities. Call me Walter. We're not here to discuss something officially." His face darkens. "I called you here because I need someone to weaken the Kishak Empire, so that my army can strike the final blow against them."
  
  "I see."
  
  "I need someone who doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, Sir Kit. I need a warrior such as you. I take it whatever you face on this mission will be enough for you to handle, and I'll be sending you backup anyhow."
  
  "What's this mission you're sending me on?"
  
  "My spies in Kishak have uncovered the location of the Empire's supply cache: in the heart of their capital city. If you can destroy the supply cache, there goes all of the Kishak army's food, weapons, and gunpowder. They'd be running on what they have left, and soon enough that would run out and my men would be able to drive them back."
  
  "... This sounds like a suicide mission."
  
  The King nods slowly. "Perhaps. But if you manage to see this mission through, the war will be won by next year. Would you not want to see an end to this war that has claimed so many lives? An end to a war your grandfathers would have fought in, and your grandchildren will fight in if it doesn't end?"
  
  You shake your head, chuckling. "You're wrong there. My grandfathers were simple farmers, and I don't have children. This war means nothing to me."
  
  "Maybe it doesn't. But think of the millions of lives that have been lost to it, and the millions of lives you will save by ending it."
  
  You sigh. At the very least, this is something to do.
  
  "Fine. Let's get prepped for this suicide mission."