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?

You no, you can't. You have to do something.

You sit up and kneel on the branch. From that position, you watch for a moment, counting their numbers. Altogether, they're about four dozen. You've fought those odds before... Then again, you had your companions by your side. Even then, you can fight like a cornered animal if you try hard enough. Time to see if you still have it.


You pull your sword from your back and ready it, then jump down in a swing. The momentum of your fall slices right through three different men before they could even react. Their heads split right open like overripe watermelons, and the sword carries on through their bodies, cleaving them in half messily. Blood and guts cover your blade.


The others all stop their march and back away immediately, staring in awe at the mess you just created. There's an intense stare down between you and all of their numbers. Some have fear in their eyes, others anger, an odd few even respect. Most? A mixture of the three. The seconds tick by slowly, painfully, neither you nor the bandits wanting to make the first move, then...


"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?" a gruff voice calls out. "ATTACK!"


Then, they're swarming you while yelling and swinging their weapons in a panic. You bring down a few with a single swing. A few cuts and stabs get through your defense. An arrow pierces your left bicep. Still, you fight madly, like an unchained beast.


Soon, you're attacking and defending on pure instinct. Adrenaline carries you as your body moves on its own. Too tired to think clearly. Can only act.


But it's in the repetition of swing, block, swing, block, that you find time to reflect.


What are you doing here?


Why are you doing this?


When did you go from being a hero to callously slaying bandits in the woods?


You're hurt. You're cold. You're hungry. You're tired. You're afraid.


But something still carries you.


That intense desire to live.


Like a flame that won't die out.


The question is...


Should the flame stay lit?

The passion has died. You need to let go of your pitiful life.

You're past your prime. Nothing you do will make a difference in this world. It's time to let an old man die before he does something too rash.


Slowly, you stop fighting. More attacks get through your defenses. Fewer of your hits connect. Soon, it's just you standing there taking their punishment. A sword gets driven through your back. A spear impales you through the abdomen. An arrow flies into your throat.


Soon enough, you're nothing but a battered and unrecognizable corpse, lying in the road. You took 21 of their number with you. Nearly half their forces. They regard your corpse with a begrudging sense of respect. No one has given them such a fight before.


You're left slumped against a tree, sword in your lap. No one who passes through dares disturb your corpse, and soon, the earth retakes you.


THE END