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."

You refuse the offer

There is no way you can betray your friends like that, even if it means certain death. They would never betray you. That manner of treachery is the stuff villains are made of, and that is a long dark road you want no part of. Villains never get princess bosom! You're also not too sure about their bacon situation.


"I'll never join you!"


"Really? What a pity. I suppose I'll have to waste you now." The bandit leader draws his scimitar. "Ebony, get in here!"


A slick dark chocolate goddess enters the tent: scantily clad in bosom emphasizing furs. "Yes, father?"


"I wanted this chump to see what he was missing out on. Flash him a little more skin… no not that much! Put your top back on!"


"Wait a second," you say. "You named your daughter Ebony? Isn't that crass?"


"I'm not very creative, alright. I don't even have a fucking name of my own."


"I'm just going to call you Sinbad. Because you sin and you're bad. Get it?"


"Oh mother-fucking merciful God!"


The bandit leader, now known as Sinbad hacks your body to bloody bits with his scimitar while Ebony rubs her nipples in the background. Something tells me she has daddy issues. Anyway, you're dead, so you won't get to explore them.