text: [Themes: fantasy, humor]
  
  "Hell yeah I'm in."
  
  Jon nods. "Glad to hear it."
  
  This could be your big chance to finally prove yourself. You need to get your name out there if you want to have any chance of receiving a knighthood someday. They do not just hand those things out like... well, nobody has ever actually handed you anything except a nice big steaming pile of shit. Peasantry blows.
  
  Under cover of darkness, you and the three guards head out along the Baron's Road in the back of a covered wagon. No one has ever thought of ambushing bandits in a covered wagon while guised as merchants. Surely, the plan will go off without a hitch.
  
  Samwellington the Fat jitters in his seat. You are not sure if it is because he is scared or hungry. How Sam became a member of the guard is beyond your imagination. Jon trusts him for some reason, and that is good enough for you. "Nervous kid?" he asks.
  
  That you might eat me. "No. If Jon says I'm ready, then I'm ready."
  
  Bowie bobs his head. "It's best to trust Jon. I didn't once and then my world went to shit. That draugr attack during the winter of '69 was brutal... I still have nightmares."
  
  Jon rolls his eyes. "If you hadn't st-"
  
  "Hey, let's let bygones be bygones," says Bowie.
  
  "Hey do you hear that?" you ask.
  
  "Sorry, my stomach rumbles when I travel," says Samwellington.
  
  "No, not-"
  
  The horses whinny and bolt. One of the wheels catches a snag in the road and topples over. Luckily, you land on Samwellington's gut. Jon cuts a hole in the wagon covering and climbs out into the night, and you and Bowie follow.
  
  "Oh, fuck..." Jon clutches his sword in both hands and rushes.
  
  Two trolls tower over the corpses of the horses and the wagon driver, tearing chunks of bloody flesh with the effort you would rip apart a boiled chicken.
  
  > DODGE!!!
  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."
  
  > turn and rush them.
  Without a moment's hesitation, you turn and rush the bandits. You are the fledgling hero of this story after all, and the hero always wins. The bandits either agree or are too shocked by your blazen stupidity and gawk at you as you close the gap.
  
  By the time one of them gathers his wits, three of them are dead at your feet. A bolt grazes your cheek as you cut the fourth man down. The fifth man, who fired the bolt, turns to flee back into the forest. He does not make it. Jon skewers him from behind.
  
  "That's going to be quite the scar," says Jon. "It's not so much a deforming scar as a handsome, charismatic scar. All great heroes get them. Chicks dig it."
  
  "I don't have one," whines Samwellington.
  
  Jon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I wonder why."
  
  The three of you hobble back to the hamlet. You have one of the priests help draft a report of the incident and send a runner to deliver it to the baron. Some unimportant nobodies go clean up the mess while you kick back and relax. Not bad for a (k)night's work.
  
  "Good work today kid, but don't get ahead of yourself kid," says Jon. "You still have a long way to go to be a true knight. It takes hard work to bang a princess and ride off into the sunset. Oh, and remember."
  
  "Dodge," you say in unison.
  
  The baron is pleased with what he reads in the report. You become Bowie's replacement in the hamlet guard and undertake some other minor missions with Jon and Samwellington. Soon you become a bit of a celebrity and inspiration, and your fame goes countywide. Priests take time out of their day to tutor you in your letters, and the baron invites you and Jon to take place in the next tournament he's hosting. The king will even be there; it is supposed to be quite the shindig. Things are looking up. All you have to decide now is what event you are going to compete.
  
  > compete in the joust.
  For reasons far beyond normal human comprehension, you elect to compete in the joust: never mind the fact that you do not own a horse and have never held a lance in your life. Remember, dodging is against the rules in a joust, so you are not exactly playing to your strengths.
  
  During a morning patrol, you and Jon discuss the upcoming tournament.
  
  "I still think you should participate in the melee with me instead," says Jon. "But if you're dead set on jousting, you're going to need a horse."
  
  "Any recommendations?" you ask.
  
  "Jousting horses are expensive. You're either going to need a big loan or a big friend. And don't forget, if you lose the joust, you lose your horse and your armor."
  
  "Can I use a quarter-horse? I bet old man Nathaniel David would let me borrow Bessy."
  
  "Sure. You can ride out naked too, but you'll just embarrass yourself." Jon smacks you upside the head. "If you aren't going to take this seriously, don't even bother showing up."
  
  You finish your patrol with Jon and head over to old man Nathaniel David's orchard before you visiting the moneylender in the next town. You know it is not wise to ignore Jon's advice, but you want to keep your options open. Old man Nathaniel David proves easy to find, he is humped over, shitting on a sapling when you arrive.
  
  "Um, what are you doing David?"
  
  "Fertilizing," he says with a massive grin. "What can I do for you lad?" He sticks out his hand for you to shake, which you begrudgingly accept.
  
  "I decided to joust in the king's tournament, but I don't have a horse."
  
  "Ah, well, I can't imagine you'd want to use any of the horses in the hamlet. Plow horses ain't going to win that for you, but I know you don't have much money. So if you want Bessy, you can have her, on one condition."
  
  "What's that?"
  
  "If by some miracle you win, you name my lil' pumpkin, Sally, Lady Fair of the Tournament. If you lose, you pay me back by marrying her. You're a good lad, and you'd make a fine husband for my girl."
  
  You have seen Sally David before, strutting around. She has a fine body for a wench, but holy matrimony is her face hideous. It looks like someone took a rake and beat her bloody. You will have to mull this one over; these are high stakes. Even if you won, you could offend many important people.
  
  "Alright, David, I'll keep the offer in mind," you say as you wave goodbye.
  
  Old man Nathaniel David hitches up his trousers and nods. "You do that, boy."
  
  The Baron's Road has been nice and calm ever since you took care of those trolls and bandits, and you arrive at the moneylender's office without incident. The moneylender's office is small and simple: one desk, two hard wooden chairs, and a few bookshelves. You have heard of these types before, and they are nothing but trouble. The moneylender skims over the pleasantries and bids you sit and begin your business.
  
  "What can I do for you, friend?" he asks. His hair is dark and oily, eyes small and beady. An unnecessarily pointy goatee graces his chin. Yep, slap the evil and unscrupulous label on him.
  
  "I need money for a horse to use in the joust. I'm one of the guys that killed those bandits and trolls on the Baron's Road awhile back."
  
  "I know who you are," he snaps. "I also know you have no money and no experience jousting."
  
  "How do you know that?"
  
  "Because." He points at his goatee. "Now I will lend you the money if you agree to my terms."
  
  "Which are?"
  
  "If you win, I get 50% of the ransom and prize money. You keep the horse. If you lose, you become my personal slave for a year." The moneylender pulls, ink, quill and parchment from his desk. "We can get the contract signed right now."
  
  > Done deal!
  As you reach to sign the contract, the moneylender stabs your hand with the tip of the quill. He pops the end of the quill into his mouth and sucks the blood off with a loud slurp. Black and blood-red sparks shoot randomly from his body. Wings burst forth from his back and claws grow from his fingers.
  
  "First, I kill you. Then, I rule the kingdom. Finally, I get all the bitches."
  
  You blink in confusion. "What?"
  
  "That's what is going to happen, and you can't stop me."
  
  "Why did you drink my blood? Are you a vampire? So help me Stephanie, if you're lurking around here, I'll kick your ass."
  
  "There's power in heroes blood."
  
  "And?"
  
  "Actually, I have no idea what I am now. I was an evil sorcerer in disguise. Then I drank hero's blood, and since I'm evil that would probably make me an anti-hero now."
  
  "Would I become an anti-villain if I drank your blood?"
  
  "I don't think it works like that."
  
  "Why not?"
  
  Because you're dead. The evil monster rips your head off with his claws and devours your corpse. That will teach you to make dirty deals with shady characters.