text: > turn out the lights.
  Once upon a time you were called the greatest hero to ever live.
  
  You must have been nineteen at the time. Fresh faced, hot headed, and too dumb for your own good. With sword in hand, you set out with your childhood friends to save the world from an evil wizard (damn, you can't even remember his name) bent on enslaving mankind. When you left home, there were five of you: a mage, a rogue, a bard, a healer, and yourself, a fighter.
  
  The six month long journey to the wizard's tower was filled with happy times, light hearted misadventures as you all prepared for fortune and glory. When you reached the tower, the mood quickly changed. Your bard fell to a herd of undead that ambushed you at the entrance. The healer took a poison dart to the throat on the fourth floor while the rogue was burned to ash by a pyromancer on the seventeenth floor. Yourself and the mage were all that remained when you reached the twentieth and final floor, and she was cut down halfway through the fight with the wizard. When the dust cleared and all was quiet, you were the last one standing.
  
  You returned home a year after you had left it. The villagers showered you in praise for killing the wizard, and word reached the nobles in the cities far away that the evil wizard had been defeated. They held a feast in your honor, they showered you in gold, they gave you a title and a manor and an army of servants. Women wanted you, men wanted to be you. But it was all hollow.
  
  You played along for the first ten years, finding little joy in the newfound fortune and glory you had longed for. It wasn't until the writers and artists began to touch your quest that you finally shut yourself in. It started innocently enough, sanitized children's tales about the exploits of you and your allies, but soon it became epic poems and romanticized paintings. One by one, your friends disappeared from the fictionalized tales of your quest, until it was just you, the knight in shining armor, slaying the vile wizard with your enchanted blade.
  
  That was when you finally shut yourself in, to hide from the common folk and their damning praise, from the artists and their bastardized accounts. For five years the only place you'd go was the tavern down the road from your estate, where you'd planned to waste the rest of your days drinking until you couldn't remember your regrets. It didn't work. Just as luck would have it, you were recognized one day, and soon people were flocking to the pub like moths to a torch. All in the hopes of meeting you, the legendary hero.
  
  In these last five years, you've stayed locked up in the master bedroom of your manor. You ordered your butler to bring you ten bottles of wine and three loafs of bread in the morning, leaving you be until the next day. No one can enter your room save the butler, and if anyone does you make sure to scare them off by grabbing your old sword and flailing it around while yelling drunkenly at them.
  
  It's a fitting end for the man regarded as the greatest hero to ever live: locking himself away in the home gifted to him, drinking wine and eating bread and waiting for the day he finally dies.
  > continue
  Your latest quest begins not with the destruction of your manor or the death of someone close to you, but rather with a letter.
  
  Bertrand, your loyal servant, comes to your room in the early morning hours to drop off today's dosage of bread and wine. But on the platter, tucked in between two loaves of bread, is a letter. The seal is emblazoned with the royal coat of arms. You eye Bertrand warily, and the old man gives a sigh. "Apologies, my lord. A knight came to the manor this morning, and he requested that I pass this along to you. The knight said that it's an invitation to the royal castle from the king himself. I suggest you read it."
  
  With a sigh of your own, you rip open the envelope and unfold the letter, taking a look at the contents.
  
  "Dear Sir,
  
  I have need of a man of your talents. There are important matters to discuss regarding the ongoing war between the Kingdom of Oren and the Empire of Kishak. You must report to Castle Oren as soon as you may, though I urge you to arrive soon. If a week has passed without word from you, then I am afraid I must send my men to acquire you immediately. I hope that you will come.
  
  Regards,
  
  King Walter III."
  
  You scoff at the letter. Bastard king, sitting on his throne while his dogs do the work. You suppose that he considers you one of them. The question lies in whether you are indeed one of the dogs that mindlessly obeys orders, or whether you'll break from the pack and carve your own path.
  > damn the king. He holds no power over you.
  For a moment, rage shakes within you. He thinks he can simply call upon you and you'll trot over to his castle? What sort of man does he take you for? The bubble of rage bursts, and you find yourself tearing the letter in two, before crumpling it and throwing it on the floor. Bertrand gulps slightly as he watches.
  
  "Leave me," you say, and he does. You carry on that day as you normally do, drinking heartily and eating when your stomach grumbles. As usual, you pass out late into the night, last bottle of wine in hand.
  
  When you wake the next day, you're fully hit by the reality of the situation. The king threatened to send men to acquire you should you fail to show up after a week. You can't stay here anymore, and if you do, then they'll come sooner or later. This means you'd either need to move on, or try to hold out and fend off any of his men who come your way.
  
  What's it going to be, hero?
  > need to leave. There's nothing for you here.
  In the late hours of the night, you set out for parts unknown.
  
  On your back is your sword, chipped and dull. It's far too large to be called a sword; massive, heavy, far too rough. If anything, it's a hunk of raw iron. But it's yours, and a single swing with the large blade is enough to cut down three cavalrymen and their horses too. Beside it is your knapsack, carrying only raw essentials, such as food, a change of clothes, a tinderbox, lantern oil, and a jug of alcohol. Fifteen feet of rope in a coil is tied onto your belt, alongside a lantern.
  
  For a moment you're leaving your home village with your friends. All of you are young, reckless, hopeful... But the nostalgia soon fades, and you realize what you're doing. You're not leaving to save the world, you're leaving to get away from your responsibilities. The thought makes you let out a dry, humorless laugh.
  
  It's been so long since you've traveled. You almost forgot what it felt like, just you on the open road. It feels... Liberating, almost. Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders for the first time in years. As though you were holding the world high above you, and only now can you take a break. But you don't hold onto that feeling, for you know well enough that it will distract you from any dangers on the road...
  
  Soon enough, you come upon a fork in the road. One road leads into the forest. You're unlikely to come across any other people on this road, only wilderness as far as the eye can see. The other road is a common trade route, with villages dotting it every few miles. Either way, wherever you go, you'll be traveling far away from the place you once called home.
  > take the path into the woods.
  You take the path through the woods, being sure to light your lantern along the way. The ambient sounds of wildlife keep you on the alert. For every wolf's howl and twig snapped in the distance, your hand draws closer to the hilt of your sword. Still, nothing comes out to attack you, and you must be grateful for that.
  
  The road carries you onwards for hours, until finally you must stop and rest. With a grunt, you begin to climb up into a large oak tree along the path, checking every branch until, finally, you find one that can support your weight. You kill your lantern and tie it to the branch using your rope. Setting your knapsack up against the tree, you lay down, and fall asleep.
  
  The sound of shouting and the light of torches causes your eyes to snap open. Through the canopy of leaves you can see a faint glow, as though sunlight is fighting hard to break through and onto the path. On said path you see a large group of men wearing armor comprised of animal hides and worn out leather.
  
  Marauders. They're a wandering group of bandits and raiders, accepting any who wish to fight with them. They make their living by ransacking and pillaging towns, and never stay in one place for long. Above all, they admire a fierce warrior, and rumor has it that if one can slay the leader of a Marauder band, then one may lead them.
  
  Instinctively you reach for your sword, but stop as you realize that they can't see you unless they look up. They must be on the way to find a village, so that they can steal their valuables, kill them all, or rape the women. Perhaps even all three, if they're a particularly ambitious bunch.
  
  You've fought these sorts before, and most often they'll fight tooth and nail until their leader is dead. Once that happens, they'll submit themselves to you willingly... That is, if you can survive long enough to reach their leader. If you got into a fight, you can't be sure you'll walk away from it alive.
  
  But at the same time... Could you just sit by and let these men harass, or even kill, the innocent?
  > yes, you can. You're not a hero anymore. They can do as they like, so long as they don't bother you.
  You make yourself scarce, watching them as they continue their march out of the forest. They're a band of about four dozen, and you know that if you had chosen to fight them, it may have meant the end of you. It must have taken close to half an hour for them all to move on so far that they were out of sight, but the adrenaline pumping through your blood made the time seem as though it had passed in the blink of an eye.
  
  Once they're gone, you retrieve your lantern and rope, before carefully climbing down the tree. You let out a sigh of relief once your feet hit the ground, and you continue your journey onward into the woods. Your journey lasts long into the day, and before you know it, the trees begin to give way to grassy fields. The only problem being that it's almost night again, and you don't want to risk sleeping out in the open.
  
  The trees are too small here for you to be able to sleep in one. You scan the area, and find... A cave? Yes, there's an entrance to a cave poking out of the ground towards the edge of the wilderness. The entrance is massive, which means that something undesirable may lurk in there, though you can take out whatever may call the cave its home.
  
  Alternatively, you can continue your march into the night. Perhaps you'll find a better place to take shelter.
  > you'll take shelter in the cave.
  You walk to the cave's entrance, lighting your lantern. Within the inky black darkness are piles of bones. Most of them are those of animals, though you spot a human skull in there. This might have been a bad idea. Still, you carry onward, swinging your sword around from your back and gripping the hilt tightly.
  
  As you journey further, you find no sign of bears or wolves or the like. So, you carry onward, intent on slaying whatever beast may live here. It is deeper into the cave that you begin to hear and feel a low rumbling. It shakes you to your core, and your knuckles whiten as you grip your sword tighter. Is it what you think it is?
  
  Your question is answered when your lantern's light glints off of maroon scales.
  
  A dragon, slumbering on a pile of branches and bones. By the size of it, it appears to be young, no older than perhaps an infant, though that does not mean that it will be friendly. Nearby are the skeletal remains of another dragon, this beast far larger. Was it orphaned? You've no idea.
  
  You are about to make your leave so you don't face the wrath of the beast when its eyes snap open.
  > quickly slide your blade back onto your back and raise your hands. You just want to go.
  Slowly, you slip your sword back into place on your back, and raise your hands. The dragon stares at you, though no malice is in its eyes; instead, you see an almost childlike curiosity. Perhaps the human skull you saw was left there by its deceased parent? Whatever it is, the dragon has yet to make any hostile actions towards you.
  
  It begins to inch its head closer to you, sniffing you curiously. Thinking quickly, you carefully remove your knapsack, then reach deep inside it. Within is a slab of raw venison, which you offer to the beast. It looks as though it's about to rip your arms off along with the meat, so you set it down at your feet and back away slowly. As you suspected, the dragon greedily gobbles it up.
  
  Once it has finished its snack, it looks contentedly at you, nudging you as though asking for more. You provide him another slab of meat, which he takes from your hands this time. Then another. You save the last piece of venison for yourself, slowly putting your knapsack back in place. The dragon tilts its head at you, before letting out what appears to be a yawn. It settles back down on the ground, and falls asleep.
  
  You let out a sigh. That was... Terrifying. You back up and set up a place to sleep not far from the dragon's chamber, falling asleep in minutes from the exhaustion. In the morning, you get up... Only to see the dragon there, staring at you. Carefully, you get up, but the dragon makes no sudden moves. Just stares at you expectantly.
  
  Putting your hands back up, you begin to back away slowly, and the dragon begins to follow. For a second, you close your eyes, awaiting the painful bite that will follow... But nothing happens. Instead, it stands there staring at you as though a puppy waiting for its master's commands.
  
  You lower your hands, then turn around. Continuing out of the cave, you glance over your shoulder every now and again, and the dragon still follows. Have you... Tamed the beast? That was easier than you expected it would be. It continues to follow you out of the cave, blinking violently at the light when you emerge from the cave and into the daylight, but still retaining its friendly attitude. It continues to follow you as you march onward to places unknown.
  
  When you fell asleep in the night, you half expected the dragon to have tried eating you in your sleep, or to have flown back to his cave. Instead, you awake to him presenting you a mangled deer carcass. It looks like you've made a new companion, and a very powerful one at that.
  
  So it is that you and the beast continue onward to wherever the road takes you.
  
  THE END