text: [Themes: love & dating]
  
  As the bitter words come out from your lips you realize them to be the absolute truth. Your wife held you back, only to kick you while you were down. She betrayed you. But you have become a stronger man for it.
  
  "She ripped into my heart and gave its pieces to another man. I want them both gone."
  
  "What are they to you?" Garreth bounced the ball straight back.
  
  "Loose ends. I need to transform, be better. Their likeness will only hold me back to the ignorant tomfool I once was."
  
  "Robert, you are gripped by the cold hand of vengeance. The path it will lead you is dangerous and corrupting." He grips your hands. They are warm to the touch. "This is not the boy I knew, shielded and mentored. Abstain from this madness!"
  
  "The boy you knew died in the woods. He left this world betrayed and abandoned. I am all that is left, and I am absolutely clear of what I want." The tone of your voice hardens as you pronounce the last words. It begets no insubordination.
  
  "I am sorry Robert. I cannot follow you in this. Whenever you need my aid, decide to relinquish this foolishness.. well you know where I live." His footsteps start to leave the room, then halt. "Please look into yourself. Please find your mercy."
  
  You don't respond.
  
  This leaves you in absolute loneliness. You are once again alone with your angry thoughts. You stare at the roof above, thinking up your next moves. On one hand, you have the cretin of a duke. He is far more powerful than you could ever be, his lands are rich, his cities populous and his castles well manned. Still, while he proved capable of deception, his hold on his vassals is weak. You could look sabotage his realm from within.
  
  That brings you to your second target, your wife. As far as you know you hold one important advantage. They are both unaware their secret had come out. They both still believe you as naive and loyal as you were before. You'll have to uphold this image at all costs, even if it takes faking your love.
  
  As you see it, your first move of action is to find good advisors. Garreth had filled this void once before you met her. Before he showed his true colors. You have Sir Myre, a veteran of war. He is utterly loyal to your house. He has known you for years and will do whatever you ask him to. However, while he is properly experienced in martial matters, you doubt he will provide you with the subtle intrigue you'll need.
  
  On the other hand, you have your new steward. She is an outsider, coming from lands far outside the kingdom. Elaria was her name. She recently took over the post after the former steward was found dead with some wench. There is something about her. While you get the feeling she isn't content, wanting a grander station, you haven't properly met her yet. She could be a loose cannon or she could be exactly what you need.
  
  Myre or Elaria, a hard choice. While you could go for them both, their different outlook would sow discord and hesitation within your plans. It would risk everything. Luckily you have all the time to make up your mind. The rays of light turn bloodred. You absentmindedly accept the serving of some tasteless mush before being left alone. Somewhere in the night, after hours of pondering your moves, you've decided.
  
  > Shall go with the loyal and the veteran.
  This is no matter to trust blindly on new acquittances. You'll need experience and loyalty on your side.
  
  The next morning you call to your servant, one of the newer recruits.
  
  "Milord?" He approaches meekly. Apparently, Garreth made an impression yesterday.
  
  "What is your name?" You try to soften your voice, you'll need to win his loyalty.
  
  "It's Brutus milord, my ma named me after the ancients," he says surprised.
  
  "It's a powerful name, honor it, Brutus." Although he will probably never amount to anything. Still, flattery from a superior practically feeds someone like him. How could you have been so blind before? "Can you fetch me, Sir Myre?"
  
  "At once, Milord."
  
  You have to wait some time. You almost want to scream for another servant when Brutus returns, Myre in tow.
  
  "Excuse me, Milord, sir Myre was hard to find." he apologizes.
  
  "It was my fault, really, I was visiting Garreth to discuss whether any more bears would terrorize our lands." This piques your interest. You forget about your anger for a moment.
  
  "Was he talkative?"
  
  "Not at all," Myre replies surprised. "For the first time in years, he refused to see me."
  
  "So he continues in his treason."
  
  "Milord?" he asks back incredulously. You notice your servant still standing in the room.
  
  "Brutus please leave us and close the doors. Don't let anyone disturb us."
  
  "Understood, Milord."A heavy thump marks his exit.
  
  "So what I've been saying," you continue without missing a beat. "Is that yesterday the old man decided to abandon me and my values. It has been the latest in a string of setbacks." You can hardly hold back your anger at this point. Sir Myre wisely stays silent.
  
  "It all started with the duke, or even with my wife. Together they betrayed me and defiled my marriage. They spat on my trust, on my loyalty. I had to leave; I had to catch some fresh air. That's when, well, the hunt happened. I wasn't thinking straight."
  
  You had been plagued by thoughts, bottled up emotions. However it's this moment, the moment you finally let everything out, that it all catches up to you. You can hardly manage a word more.
  
  "Milord. I truly am sorry," Myre starts. "Know that I will forever remain loyal to your house. What would you want me to do?"
  
  > say "Prepare for war."
  "Our liege has gravely dishonored me and my name. He spat on my loyalty and deserves nothing but rebellion. I want you to raise our men, plan our attack and prepare for war." You reclaim yourself as best as you can. This is no matter to weakly approach.
  
  "Milord," Myre acknowledges. You sense he wants to speak his mind. Still, you're not finished
  
  "I know we'll be gravely outnumbered and probably lose without any proper preparation. But luck smiles on the bold and we have the nature of our lands at our side. The ancient woods allow us to mobilize without any outside knowledge, it allows us to move unseen and unhindered. If all goes wrong, the woods can be made our wooden wall. We can organize raids and attack with surprise, only to retreat into the green hell." You had thought about it all. The more you speak, the more certain of your words you become.
  
  "Milord," Myre tries again. Very well then.
  
  "Yes, please speak," you reply loftily.
  
  "Have you considered we'll be outnumbered twenty to one?"
  
  It's a defeatist attitude. Numbers are inconsequential with asymmetric warfare. Maybe you've picked the wrong guy. You give him one more chance.
  
  "Yes, I did consider it. We won't strike where they're strong."
  
  Myre wants to say something. But with a piercing stare, you make him swallow his words.
  
  "The risks outweigh the rewards, my Lord," he says instead.
  
  "Yet Fortune smiles on the bold. We shall show them, Myre. We shall show the world what it means to be one of us." The call is clear. Join or be left behind.
  
  The old veteran sighs, "Very well. Give me a month to prepare. You want to do this clean or dirty?"
  
  > say "Don't do anything too harsh."
  You look out of your window. Your army is training. You notice the languidity of the drills. They are ready. Myre did well.
  
  You are riding your trusted horse out the gate. Your army is behind you. You had conscripted the peasants, recruited the wanderers. It became an oiled machine, a machine of death.
  
  You take the first villages easily. The duke had raised his own army in alarm. It's large, your scouts report a five to one disadvantage. Yet you trust in your troops. You trust in your marshal.
  
  The two armies collide on a big open field. It's as flat as they come. Their battleline stretches as wide as the horizon itself. You ride up and down your own and see only fear. Your trusted men needed you.
  
  "Men! Know we have to fight for our freedom today. We fight for the safety of our homes. Look across you! Look at the cowardness of our enemy. He has brought many, yet he has not brought enough!
  
  Our ancestors smile upon you. I say every man from Rivellon is worth ten maggots from the south. Look to each other. See your brethren. You fight not only for yourself. You fight for them too!
  
  We are better trained, better bodied and better armed. We will crush them together. We will stand for Rivellon and pass our mark down to history.
  
  Fight valiantly men! Fight for glory!"
  
  > The armies collide.
  You charge forward. Your loud roar of madness reverberates of your army. A thousand throats become one as their owners join you in a battle of life and death.
  
  There is no quarter, there is no honor. You have to fight brutally and hammer every opponent. The once orderly lines quickly devolve in a wild frenzy. Allies fight each other in the confusion. The dust makes it hard to see.
  
  You feel a rimple of shock going through your brethren. The enemy cavalry had joined the fray. Their charge can be felt from over a mile. You force yourself to ignore it. Myre would handle the strategy. You are just another grunt, fighting on the frontlines.
  
  You feel yourself losing your awareness. Your consciousness dulls as you hack and stab at every moving target. It's no use. There is simply no end.
  
  You continue, pushing through the ranks with nothing but blind luck to aid you. You lose track of time.
  
  There! The pressure abates. One side pulls back. It all started with a single man. His wavering courage spread to others like a rotting disease. It's not long before you run after them wildly. You give no time to the pile of corpses and agony you leave behind.
  
  It's in the pursuit you come to your senses and realize the trap you've walked in. Left and ride a wall of riders charges in. Your army ceases to exists within mere minutes. The ones who survive the couched lance are rewarded with a trampled death.
  
  It's here you fall.
  
  It's here you make your mark on history.
  
  > Epilogue
  "And it was here Lord Robert the Traitor fell. He failed in his uprising and left room for over a century of peace," you bombastically end your story. it was not often the losers of history were remembered. You hope it catches on. The tavern was an ideal place to experiment.
  
  "Tell us more of that lass, Isabella was it?" a patron demands.
  
  "Isabella never quite recovered from the loss of her husband. Her only noteworthy act was giving birth, six months after the father died. Their son was taken in by Duke Leopold the Great and cared for as his own." Frankly, the history lesson bores you. You aspired to tell a story of failed revenge, not of the exact machinations of the ninth century.
  
  "That's boring!" another patron confirms your thoughts.
  
  "Thank you, sir. Now if I may continue with-"
  
  "You're boring!"
  
  "Now kind sir. If you would allow me the decency as to start a new story, I'm certain both of us would be glad the spent the night in peace."
  
  "The only thing that'd give me peace is you gone!"
  
  There was no pleasing them. Whatever you tried, they found a way to break it all down.
  
  Dejectedly you leave the inn. Armed with nothing but your mandolin and your wits you leave.
  
  The wide world awaits. Someone somewhere will appreciate your efforts.