Wise decision: it is best to stick with your strong suits.


You excuse yourself and get up to leave. The moneylender, mutters something to himself while stroking his beard as you head toward the door. Something is really evil about this guy. You turn around and lop off his head before heading home. Yeah, that was probably a good idea.


The morning of the tournament dawns crisp and cool with a slight breeze, just enough to give the ladies' skirts a nice billowing. You feel a familiar stirring in your loins, and it is driving you insane. As a fledgling hero, you have been saving yourself for your future princess bride, but dear God has it left you on edge, not that you have not had offers. Jon was right; your scar is a chick magnet. You practically have to beat them off.


A gaggle of girls giggle as you walk past them. Bitches.


Whoa, where did that come from? That is not very heroic. The proper term is 'wenches.' Remember that next time, fledgling hero.


With your minor slip into villainy over, you prepare for the melee and take your place in the fighting field. There appear to be fifty or so participants as you try to pick out some of the people the Baron told you about. You see Mad Moose McDoogle in his clumsy antlered helmet, Sir Richard Lionsmane with his shaggy locks, Sir Henry Williams a.k.a. The Rabid Fox, the Weasel brothers in their matching silver gilded armor, and Bucktooth Barry among others.


"Save your energy," says Jon. "Let the others wear themselves down. They'll make a mistake eventually. Then you can strike when they're weak and out of position. And stay by me. We might both be able to get knighthoods out of this."


"Don't worry. I got your back Jon."


A blast from the bugle signals the start of the melee. The clamor of blunted steel on blunted steel rings through the fairgrounds. You and Jon fight back-to-back, just as you did against those trolls several years ago. You two are not the only ones fighting on teams. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the Weasel brothers and Mad Moose McDoogle charge The Rabid Fox.


The Rabid Fox looses ground as the trio attempt to surround him. He isn't dodging. He's parrying. He's done for. The Rabid Fox's and one of the Weasel brother's swords shatter on impact. Mad Moose McDoogle peels off the attack and rounds on the Weasel brothers, catching them unaware. He knocks them both down and out just before The Rabid Fox charges him in turn.


A sword slashes inches from your cheek, and you regain your focus. Dodge, slash, dodge, dodge, slash, dodge, trip, kick. Another one bites the dust.


The fighting continues until there is just you, Jon, The Rabid Fox, who has not only obtained a new sword but a horse as well, and Bucktooth Barry left.


Maybe you should turn on Jon now?

You turn on Jon.

Fuck this shit. You're in it to win it. You whirl around and knock Jon out cold. Poor bastard never saw it coming.


Bucktooth Barry gestures toward The Rabid Fox and the pair of you charge the mounted knight. You pull up at the last moment and watch The Rabid Fox clobber Bucktooth Barry aside the helmet. Seizing the opportunity, you bolt in, grab the reins and yank. The horse bucks, but The Rabid Fox manages to cling in the saddle.


With no other options, you hack at the horse's legs. The beat cries out in pain as The Rabid Fox topples from the dying beast. You thrust your sword, sticking the point an inch from The Rabid Fox's throat.


"Yield."


The Rabid Fox coughs blood. "You have no honor. You're no… hero."


"Hero's win. I won. Now yield."


Blood gushes down your leg, and you scream in pain as you collapse to your knees. What happened? What the bloody fucking hell!? The dying horse lying beside you twists its neck, reaches up and bites you in the throat. Warm blood trickles down your body. You cannot breath.


You fall into a pool of blood.


The Rabid Fox staggers to his feet, shaking his head.


You hear Jon's voice. "A heroic knight fights with honor at all times." Those are the last words you hear as the world fades to black.


Well that was disappointing. Killed by a horse. Apparently, you were not the hero I thought you were. He must be somewhere else. Enjoy death.