text: [Themes: fantasy, humor]
  
  All of Jon's training really pays off. Using your sixth sense, you see the attack coming leagues away. With all the grace of youth, you jump to the side as a horse leg soars past your ear. Quite unfortunate for Bowie, who takes the hoof straight in the face. You do not even look. The crack and thump tells you all you need to know.
  
  Dodging more chunks of horse and human, you maneuver your way to Jon and the trolls. Master and apprentice stand back-to-back as you fend off the fearsome beasts. Dodge, parry, dodge, dodge, strike, dodge, parry, dodge, dodge, dodge, strike. And so the battle goes. Troll blood drenches you as you hack away. Surprisingly, it smells like apples.
  
  "Jon," you say, while dodging another troll fist, "they keep regenerating when I dodge them. It's a troll blood bath, but they aren't going down."
  
  "DODGE!" Jon shouts. "Always DODGE!"
  
  "Then RAM," screams Samwellington, bulling into the fray. By the sound of the collision, you think Samwellington just tackled Jon's troll. What an awful, squishy sound.
  
  "Where the fuck have you been?" you ask.
  
  "Cowering."
  
  Your troll swings its long hairy arms wide and claps them together, aiming for your head. You dodge and slide along the blood slicked ground, slashing the beast's legs as you slip between them. Hopping to your feet, you deliver the finishing blow as the beast drops to its knees before splashing face first into a puddle of its own blood.
  
  Jon's troll has met the same fate. Jon appears unwounded, though breathing heavily, leaning on his sword.
  
  "Oh, dear god! Samwellington!"
  
  Samwellington lies on the ground with a grisly gash on his robust gut that looks inches deep. "Oh don't worry," he says. "They just cut into the fat. I always knew eating all that pork lard would pay off one day."
  
  Jon smirks. "See, I told you. Dodge."
  
  "I won't question you again Jon. Too bad about Bowie though."
  
  "Meh, he was a fucking dick anyway."
  
  Sam struggles to sit up. "I don't think those trolls were the reason those people went disappearing."
  
  You nod. "Because all this blood and gore would have been pretty hard to miss."
  
  "No. Because there are five guys with loaded crossbows behind you."
  
  "Shit."
  
  > Surrender.
  Sometimes the odds are just stacked too highly against you. It is not that you are a coward or anything. It is just that you know a lost cause when you see one. If the situation had been different... Oh well, what is the worst that can happen? They will probably just steal your valuables and leave you on your merry way. Thankfully, none of you are women.
  
  "I yield," you say, unbuckling your sword belt.
  
  "Some knight you are," Jon scoffs as he rushes the bandits. Five bolts tear into his body, ripping his flesh to ribbons like a ragdoll.
  
  Samwellington squeals incomprehensible gibberish.
  
  "He never even had a chance to dodge." A lone tear trickles down your cheek. "Poor bastard."
  
  Jon's eyes snap open. He glares at you as he struggles to his feet, using his sword as a crutch. "Cunt." He takes a step toward you. Five more bolts drive into him, and he collapses in a heap.
  
  Samwellington squeals more incomprehensible gibberish.
  
  "What the-?"
  
  ...
  
  Your head is throbbing and you taste dirt and blood. Bindings dig into your wrists and ankles. The bandits are dragging you through the undergrowth: rather unkindly as your head bangs into root and trunk alike.
  
  Oh dear God, I hope I don't have a concussion. Mom always told me to wear a helmet.
  
  How long had you been unconscious? Surely, it could not have been more than a minute or two. The road should still be close. If you could only somehow manage to escape, you could gather reinforcements.
  
  You thrash in an attempt to break free, but your efforts are rewarded with nothing but a series of swift kicks to the ribs. You slip into your happy place for the remainder of the journey, day dreaming of sweet, succulent, juicy bacon and princess bosom.
  
  ...
  
  A fist drills into your gut, wrenching you out of your blissful imagination. The bandit leader towers over you, looking buff and pissed. You know he is the leader because he is wearing a cape and is the only black dude in this story.
  
  "Alright, punk, you've got two choices."
  
  "Naturally."
  
  "I'm always looking for good men to join my crew, and since you surrendered like a good little bitch, you get the first crack at signing up. All you have to do is kill your friends to prove your loyalty."
  
  "Did you have to hit me?"
  
  "Yes, it illustrates my tough guy, no bullshit attitude."
  
  "Oh, I see. Kind of like how Dark Lords sacrifice random minions to show how evil they are."
  
  "Exactly. You get the picture. I knew I liked you. Now go kill your friends and maybe one day you can earn the right to wed my ebony bandit princess daughter."
  
  "Is she tight and curvy?"
  
  "What part of bandit princess don't you get?"
  
  "Sweet."
  
  > accept the offer
  "I love princess bosom! And bacon."
  
  "Of course you do. Underlings, untie him and give him his sword. He has friends to murder."
  
  The bandit underlings do as commanded and direct you to the tent where Jon and Samwellington are being kept on the opposite side of the camp. The entire place is a mess of mud and slop: nothing like a rainstorm to turn a perfectly planned camp into a pile of crap. As you make your way to take care of business, you spy what can only be the ebony bandit princess. The bandit leader did not do the lass justice. She is nothing less than a dark chocolate goddess sent from the heavens themselves.
  
  She notices you staring and rubs her nipples. "Like what you see?"
  
  "Yes, Mam."
  
  "Me too." She winks and blows a kiss. "Think your cute?"
  
  "You can bet your scantily clad ass and bosom I do. I'm a generic hero after all. Being cute is in the job description."
  
  "Ooooooo, a generic hero turned renegade! That really turns me on. I'm so wet."
  
  "Yeah, all this rain is getting me soaked too."
  
  "Cute and funny! We're going to have a lot of fun tonight."
  
  "I try to have fun every night. I love games. Do you like games?"
  
  "I think I just orgasmed. See that tent? Five minutes. Be there."
  
  The ebony bandit princess saunters off, leaving you alone to complete your dark deed. Looking forward to countless nights of games and fun, you duck into the tent to kill Jon and Samwellington. They are blindfolded, bound, and gagged. They won't even know you betrayed them!
  
  You raise your sword to do the deed, but before you can deliver the stroke, all the wonderful memories you had training under Jon stream through your mind. You remember the first time he taught you to dodge, the first time he had a random ragamuffin kid in the hamlet throw piles of shit at you, the time he told you what a clitoris is, and the time he first taught you that survival sometimes means kicking the enemy in the balls.
  
  Shit I dunno if I can do this.
  
  Perfectly understandable, but I assure you the ebony bandit princess is the only ebony chick in this universe. Is your friendship worth giving that up? She is unique, one-of-a-kind, like a special edition Poke'mon.
  
  > Ebony bandit princess, you choose you!
  How positively villainous, betraying your best friend and teacher. You kill Jon with a discreet thrust to the heart. Samwellington takes a little more work since you have to cut through all the fat, but in the end, the deed is done. I hope you are proud of yourself.
  
  With a minute to spare, you enter the tent the ebony bandit princess demanded. You play games together all night long, every night for years to come. Eventually, you take over and become the new bandit leader, earning a fortune in the bacon smuggling trade. Life couldn't be better for a bandit king.
  
  For awhile you feared the ghosts of Jon and Samwellington would return to the living world and haunt you for your atrocious crimes, but thankfully you are left in peace.
  
  One night you die of a heart attack while playing your nightly game with your ebony bandit princess turned queen. The absurd amount of bacon consumption probably had something to do with that. Before you were forced to enter your happy place all those years ago, you had been able to suppress your bacon cravings. Since then you could never resist the urge. Alas, life treated you well all the same.
  
  The afterlife does not. You go to the innermost circle of hell and burn in eternal hellfire for murdering your friends in cold blood, asshole.