text: 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'll continue on the road.
  You pass the inn by, instead opting to continue on into the night on the road. Carrying onward for miles, you eventually lay down on the side of the road to sleep for the night. A few hours later you awaken to the morning light, and continue onwards, north to Sodran.
  
  You've been there before, almost a lifetime ago. Back in your day the place was like a sapling surrounded by soot; attempting to grow, but suppressed by its surroundings. The metaphorical soot to the city's metaphorical sapling was the evil wizard you faced down. Try as you might, you could never forget the expressions on the faces of the downtrodden. They looked like they had nothing to live for.
  
  You suppose you know know how it feels now.
  
  By midday, the city is within sight after passing a few dozen villages or so. Great walls surround it, and tall buildings poke out from behind the walls. Stone steps lead up to a massive stone archway, which itself leads into the city proper. There's a statue at the base of the steps, the details of which you can't make out, but it looks like it's in decent condition from this far away. It's a magnificent sight, to be sure.
  
  Once you're within a half mile of the city not an hour later, you finally notice something you couldn't spot from further away: a large camp encompasses the city. Strange. A quarter mile away you can make out shambling figures stumbling around the camp. Once you get close, not ten yards away, you can make out exactly what's happening.
  
  The shambling figures all look to be malnourished and dressed in glorified rags. The adults sit around the camp looking defeated, a small number praying to whatever God they worship. A few children run around kicking a ball, but their expressions tell you that they've experienced too much. What the hell is going on here?
  
  You go and speak to a guard watching them all, and ask him who these people are. His reply is to let out a dry chuckle. "What, haven't been to this city in a while? These are the unfortunate bastards who were denied access to our fair city. Refugees and the like from the war with Kishak. Mostly natives to our kingdom, couple of Kishak bastards here and there."
  
  "Is there any reason the Count of this city has it closed off?" you ask. His response is to laugh again.
  
  "There's an entry fee, two hundred gold coins. They," he gestures to the camp, "couldn't cover it. Poor bastards, left to rot out here."
  
  What the hell? They couldn't pay some fee, so now they're locked from entering the city? At the very least you can pay it, but you suppose the question remains if you can just walk on by these people.
  > can't do that. You need to do something. Get them to rise up.
  It pains you to watch these people carry on like this. Just wandering, barely any food, scarce shelter, and no chance of ever entering the city they're so desperate to live in. This Count of Sodran guy. You've never heard of him, considering the last time you were here the title was still "mayor". It doesn't matter who he's supposed to be, because you know that he's not doing this city any good.
  
  You walk away from the guard and head to the nearest refugee. "Do you have a leader I can speak to?"
  
  He looks up at you, a dejected expression on his face, and gives a weary sigh. He points to a tent that's larger than the rest. "Hugo, the old man in there, is sort of our leader. He gets us jobs in the area and makes sure everyone is well fed."
  
  You nod. "Thanks for the info." With those words, you head to the tent, intent on pitching your idea to the leader. Opening the tent's flaps and stepping inside, you see that it's decorated scarcely. There's some small bedding in the corner, next to a chair and a small bookshelf. An old man with weathered features and a bushy beard sits in the chair reading a book.
  
  You give a cough to break the silence, and he looks up, smiling at you. "Oh, hello there. New to our fair camp?" His voice carries a thick Kishak accent. Guess you know where he's from now.
  
  "No. I came to speak to you about Sodran, and the Count."
  
  "What about it, stranger?"
  
  "Have you ever thought about how many people you have here? It's at least a legion's worth, damn near a thousand from the looks of it. If you banded together... You could take the city."
  
  Hugo looks a bit shocked by your proposal, but not disapproving of the idea. "... Maybe we could, stranger. But what business do you have with us, or Sodran, or the Count?"
  
  "None at all. I'm just a traveler with too much time on his hands."
  
  Hugo mulls your words over. He stares at you, as if trying to assess your reasons for approaching him with this proposition. Finally, he shrugs, and nods at you. "Very well then. I'll organize the refugees... Did you come here just to plant the idea in my head, or do you want to participate in this... Uprising?"
  > you've come this far, might as well follow through. You'll join their uprising.
  You nod your head. "Yeah. I'll join you in your uprising."
  
  Hugo smiles, and nods. "Very well. You seem like you have the most combat experience out of anyone in this camp, anyhow! I was simply a baker back home, har har!"
  
  "Is there anyone here who can fight?"
  
  "A decent chunk, I'd say. Mostly defending themselves from any bandits back in their homes. I can take you to Rupert, he was a mercenary years ago. He retired four years back, but he may be willing to help you organize this."
  
  You nod. "I'll speak to him. What does he look like?"
  
  "He's a bit younger than me. He has a bushy mustache, bright red hair, green eyes. You'll know him when you see him, he always has a big smile on his face. In the meantime, I'll gather the others."
  
  Wait. A Rupert with red hair and green eyes? Oh God, if it is him... Grunting in acknowledgement, you go on your way to find Rupert. It doesn't take you long, as you find him swinging his sword at a tree in the center of the camp. Oh great, it probably is him. Approaching him, you speak, "Keeping your swordsmanship sharp?"
  
  He nods, not looking away from his practice. When he speaks, it's in a voice you know: "Aye, I were a merc many years back! Ran me own company I did, paid well. I retired 'cause me wife wanted me to, but I still know 'ow to swing a sword 'round."
  
  Great. It really is him."... Rupert. It's me, Kit."
  
  He turns, and looks at you. His jaw drops along with his sword. Then, he's smiling widely. You're caught off guard by his speed as he rushes over to give you a hug. "Kit, ol' buddy ol' pal! It's been too damn long ya jammy bastard!"
  
  "Yeah, Rupert. Too long. How've you been doing?"
  
  "Pretty damn well I'd say, 'side from the whole losin' my home thing! Dear God lad, it's been ages. Ye've gotten so damn old! Even I look better than ya, haha!"
  
  Despite yourself, you crack a smirk. "Really? At least I'm not soft in the middle like you, you old son of a bitch."
  
  He chuckles. "Alright, maybe I've gotten a wee bit out of shape in the last coupla years. Could still kick yer ass, I bet! Oh, they always left that outta the stories, didn't they? How I whooped yer ass the first time we met! Think I could beat ya if we did round two?"
  
  This makes you roll your eyes. "Oh, yeah, you soundly defeated me with your brave tactic of setting a trap. Piss off." You pause, remembering why you came here. "... Well, I'd love to chat about old times for longer, but I came here for a reason. I convinced the leader, Hugo, to start an uprising so you can get access into the city."
  
  Rupert runs a hand along his chin. "Did ya now? I've been thinkin' 'bout it myself to be honest with ya. So, I'm down. It'll be just like old times, eh Kit?"
  
  "Just like old times."
  
  "So, when do we start and whadda we need to do?"
  
  "Whenever we're ready. Right now, I think we need to stock up on weapons. You know anybody who has some?"
  
  "Aye, that I do. There's a few people 'round here who have personal weapons, mostly shortswords and daggers. A few folks have stockpiles of them too, we could convince them to lend 'em out to the folks who don't have none."
  
  You nod. "Good. You organize this, they'll trust someone they know more." Rupert nods at your words, then continues on to the people who have weapons. In the meantime, you head back to Hugo's tent. When you arrive, you see that he's outside, addressing a crowd of refugees.
  
  "People of this fair camp," he speaks in a low voice, enough for people in the immediate vicinity to hear, but not loud enough for it to reach the guards watching the camp from a distance. "It is time for us to finally enter this city... By force."
  
  A few members of the crowd gasp at this, but are otherwise not opposed by the idea. It makes sense, you suppose; this city has kept them under its boot long enough. Hugo continues, "This brave stranger here has finally given me the courage I need to carry this uprising out. Step forward." He points to you. You step up. "You have spoken to Rupert, yes?"
  
  You nod. "Yes. I spoke to Rupert. He's currently gathering people who have stockpiles of weapons so that they may be handed out to all of you who need them."
  
  Hugo nods. "Very good. And before you begin to wonder, my friends: yes. Some of you may very well die in this uprising. But the important thing is that the other refugees will enter the city in your place."
  
  The crowd all nods at this; they know not to cause a scene when the guards are near. They then head back to their tents, where they presumably get ready. Rupert comes to meet you and Hugo soon after.
  
  "I spoke to the people that got weapons," he says. "They're all on board with the plan. This'll go right smooth like if we just keep on keepin' on."
  
  Hugo nods. "Excellent work, Rupert. What have you to say, stranger?"
  
  "When do we do this?"
  
  "Tonight. The guards won't be expecting it then. We'll strike tonight."
  
  You give a grunt in affirmation, then head off to the edge of the camp to await nightfall. Hours pass, and soon, the sun has gone down and the moon has taken its place in the sky. No lights illuminate the camp; it's as if nothing is there at all. You push through the inky darkness and to Hugo's tent.
  
  There, he reads by candlelight. You speak up, "Hugo. Is it time?"
  
  Hugo nods. "I do believe it's time." With that, he closes the book and stands, leaving the tent. One by one, the other refugees emerge from their tents as well. They must be better coordinated than you thought. With everyone gathered, you make sure you have their attention, then address them.
  
  "We'll head through the front gates. I'll take out any opposition, I'll just need the others to watch my back." They all look apprehensive of the idea, but after a moment they nod. Still, you know well enough that they might bolt at the first sign of trouble. You gather up whoever's fit to fight, giving a grand total of nearly two hundred for the attack. Hugo decides to stay behind to make sure the others are fine.
  > continue
  This late at night, there are no guards milling around outside the city. Your band of would-be freedom fighters ascend the stone steps up to the city gates, completely unnoticed. When you reach the gates, you see two guards ahead; one is watching a firefly intently as it floats around his face, while the other has fallen asleep while standing up.
  
  You unsheathe your sword and rush forward, stabbing the firefly guard through the chest. He lets out a blood-tinged gasp of mingled shock and pain, before slumping over. You pull your sword out of his chest and swing at the sleeping guard, whose head rolls to the ground before he can even wake up. "Open the gates," you order the others, and they move to do so.
  
  The sound of wood grinding against stone greets your ears as the gates are opened. After a moment, they're open enough for you to slip through. Looking around, you see that only a few people roam the city streets, most of them guards. You turn your head over your shoulder to address the group, "If I look like I'm in trouble, come help. Otherwise, stay back." With those words, you charge at the nearest guard with a swing.
  
  You cut down a few guards before they even notice you're there. Once they do, however, shouting breaks the silence of the night as they alert each other to your presence. One grabs a whistle and blows it, the sharp sound tearing through the city streets. Whatever civilians are around quickly run away... And you notice a few refugees taking the opportunity to bolt as well.
  
  Damn those cowards! You should have figured, though: they're just peasants without a lot in life. They're not willing to die for their freedom. Hell, you're not even sure why you're fighting their fight... But you aren't one to quit something when you've started.
  
  You continue to fight. Of the two hundred refugees that were fit to fight, a grand total of twenty stuck with you, with Rupert among them. The rest fled deeper into the city or back to the camp. It doesn't matter; what does matter right now is getting to the Count's manor and taking it down.
  
  You continue to fight through the streets for what seems like days, but in truth was only about an hour. You cut down any guards that attacked, and the others watched your flanks and defended you when any got past your defenses. It works well as a system, but all good things must come to an end. One by one, your allies drop to the guards.
  
  By the time you reach the Count's manor, four of you remain: yourself, Rupert, and two men you learn are named Karl and Frank. You don't bother with subtlety when you reach the metal gate in front of the Count's manor. Raising your blade up high, you slam it down upon the lock keeping it closed once, twice, three times, before it splits wide open and opens the way.
  
  The moon illuminates the manor, casting a shadow on your quartet. No guards are there to greet you, which is strange. Looking around the courtyard leading into the manor, you notice a collection of barrels. Curious, you approach them, and read the labels on them.
  
  They read "gunpowder".
  
  You find yourself grinning. This will help. "You three, grab a barrel and throw it inside." The others quickly move to help you, picking them up and heading to the door. You open it for them, finding it unlocked, and they begin to throw the barrels into the entrance hall.
  
  Once most of the barrels are inside, you grab the last one and pull the cork off the top. You drain a line of gunpower out of it, leading from the door to where the barrels are placed. Then, you exit the manor and pull out your tinderbox. The flames burst forth, and the trail of gunpowder ignites, moving slowly to the barrels. You take the chance to run in the opposite direction.
  
  A moment later, there is a loud explosion, and the manor is set ablaze. Still, you keep on guard. There weren't any guards around, which is strange. As you're comtemplating, Rupert, Karl, and Frank are celebrating. "Lighten up, lad! We blew up the Count and his damned manor! The city's free!"
  
  "Not quite."
  
  You look up to see a man consumed by flames, floating above you. He begins to drop down, and you instantly roll backwards. The man on fire lands on top of Frank, smashing through his head and completely obliterating it. Karl and Rupert back away in terror.
  
  "I don't appreciate what you did to my home. Die." He raises a hand, and slings a fireball at Karl. The refugee is consumed by flames, screaming all the while. Desperately, he tries to pat them away, but it does no good. He falls to the ground and rolls around in pain, his screeches of sheer agony lasting until his lungs collapse from the fire. Even then he's still alive, if only for a moment longer.
  
  The man on fire turns to you. "You. Die." He slings a fireball your way, but you manage to deflect it with the flat side of your sword. The fireball flies right back at him, and he recoils away from it for only a moment. Still, he laughs. "You think you can kill me with fire? Really?"
  
  He snaps his fingers and the fire subsides. He's naked, athletically built with fair skin. His black hair is messy. Another snap, and now he's fully clothed with hair neatly combed. "Tell me this, peasants. Why did you feel the need to burn down my manor?"
  
  This is the Count.
  
  "Yer a bastard that's corruptin' this fair city with yer stench, that's why!" Rupert answers for you, which makes the Count laugh heartily.
  
  "My, you're something. An old drunk picking a fight he can't possibly win. Amusing." Then, the Count sighs. "Oh well, I'm bored of you." A snap of his fingers, and then Rupert is sent flying into a nearby wall. You shout his name, but the Count turns on you. "... Hm. You look familiar."
  
  "I'm the man who saved this city, you son of a bitch! And I'm gonna do it again!" you shout, readying your sword.
  
  The Count laughs. "Hoho, Sir Kit! I should have known! Come to slay the big bad Count, have we?"
  
  "You're not human! You're a... A monster!"
  
  "Demon, to be specific." He gives you a smug smile.
  
  This son of a bitch, correcting you like you're a simple-minded peasant. You find yourself grinding your teeth together. Unconsciously, your grip on your sword tightens. As you're doing this, your eyes catch Rupert's as he picks himself up. He's still alive, if only barely. You can see the question in his eyes...
  
  He's asking you if you want him to help you out.
  > No. Rupert might die if he attacks. You'll do this yourself.
  Slowly, you shake your head. Rupert looks slightly worried, but nods. That settled, you turn your attention back to the Count. He gives a tsk, shaking his head and chuckling slightly. "Colluding with your half dead pal? I'm not stupid or blind, you know."
  
  Shit. Should have figured. Now you're glad you didn't bring Rupert into this. So, rather than try and fuck around any longer than you already have, you jump right into the fray. Swinging your sword at the demonic Count, you're not surprised when he catches the blade with his hands. You expected him to go for some blatant display of power like that. He just made a mistake.
  
  You grit your teeth harder than you already were as you twist the blade. The Count is taken off guard by this and you manage to flip him onto his back. Yanking the sword from his grip, you raise it up high and swing down, cutting his head in half at the nose.
  
  You let out of a sigh, thinking it's over, when you hear clapping behind you. "Well done, Kit! Well done!" You turn your head to see who's saying that...
  
  It's the Count. Alive and unharmed. If you were any younger, you'd let out a gasp of shock and shout something like "how are you still alive?!" But you're not as stupid as you were. Instead, you release a weary sigh. "Let me guess: demonic powers?"
  
  "You bet. No mortal can kill me."
  
  You run forward and swing again. The Count blocks, but you continue to attack, until eventually you cleave him in half. He rises again. "Give up, Kit."
  
  Your response comes in the form of a sword through his head.
  
  The two of you dance like that for a while. Occasionally, he attacks, and it takes all you have to defend yourself. Even when he grazes you it's enough to nearly take you out of the fight. The only thing carrying you right now is adrenaline, passion, and pure unbridled hatred for this "man" and his kind.
  
  You're not sure how long the fight lasts. You just know that right now you're keeping yourself held up by your sword. Your body is bloodied and bruised, and you're not sure how long you can keep going... That is, until you notice a strange black orb poking out of the Count's chest.
  
  His heart.
  
  He doesn't notice, because he simply awaits your next attack. "Looks like your wounds are catching up to you, human. Next time you strike, I'll bring you down."
  
  You're going to have to make this one count.
  
  Picking up your sword, you make as if you're going to swing, and run at the Count. He's already moving to intercept your swing, when you quickly shift and run your sword through his heart. A look of shock makes its way onto his face, and he swings a clawed hand at your face. It claws off a good chunk of your head, including your left eye, but you don't give a damn. You've got him now.
  
  You pull the blade out once he hits the ground. He's not getting up from that. You almost feel like you're about to fall over and die yourself, but you raise your blade up high for the final attack. He raises his hand feebly. "W-wait, d-don't..."
  
  You swing.
  
  Then, you collapse.
  
  Rupert rushes over to you. His face is a mask of horror and sadness. "Kit... Oh God, lad. What the Hell were you thinkin'?"
  
  "Just... Being a hero... One last... Time."
  
  "I... I want to say help is coming, Kit. But Lilith ain't 'round no more."
  
  Despite yourself, you let out a chuckle. It causes you more pain, and your words come out weaker. "Don't... Worry... Gonna be seeing her... And Henry... And Thomas... And... Grace... Soon."
  
  Tears are streaming down Rupert's face. "You were always such a damned fool, lad."
  
  "Heh... May... be..."
  
  You let out your last breath.
  
  In the coming days the guards are wiped out by the refugees. You become a martyr for their cause, drawing support from the townsfolk who worshiped you like one of the Gods. Soon, the rebellion takes over Sodran, allowing any and all who need shelter into the city.
  
  This proves to be its downfall in the coming years.
  
  The city can't handle the massive influx of people. Overpopulation becomes an issue. The homeless rate spikes, as there aren't enough jobs to go around. As such, crime rises as well, and soon the majority of the city is comprised of criminals.
  
  Sodran's reputation shifts from a glorious beacon of light to a city of thieves. No one wants to go there anymore, for fear of their coin purse and their life. The merchant and trade caravans passing through the city disappear one by one until none are left, and the city's income goes with it.
  
  With the rise of overpopulation, homelessness, and crime, it's no surprise that the rate of diseases the citizens catch increases as well. Eventually, damn near the whole city is infected with a dangerous plague for which there is no cure. The city is quarantined off by the King. When the last citizen dies, Sodran is razed, and no trace of its existence is left but rumors and closely kept records.
  
  This matters not to a dead hero such as yourself. In death, you find peace. In death, you see them again. In death, you are happy.
  
  Despite what most religions on your world would like people to believe, there are no pearly gates or fluffy clouds in the afterlife. There is no fire and brimstone. There's not even a blank void of nothingness. Instead, there is bliss, with fallen friends gathering around you to celebrate your reunion with them.
  
  It's the ending that a hero deserves.
  
  THE END