Still obscured by the tangle of branches and mosaic of fluttering leaves, it takes a moment before this group of strangers is completely within sight. At least eight, probably more. All look relatively humanoid, but something is off with their faces. Masks. A cover of plain, brown fabric with a single eye in the middle, cast with red dye.

  Marco draws both shortswords from his waist. Leylin pulls out her own, two-pronged blade and raises her shield. Emmitt, though still completely unarmed, raises his hands together as though he was wielding a massive greatsword. They watch intently as one of the masked figures steps forward, brandishing their own sword.

  “Good now, this doesn’t have to be difficult.” Gruff. Terse. Vaguely female. “Hand over everything that’s worth anything and we’ll move right along. If things go differently that’s on you.”

  Both sides keep their weapons raised, and remain unmoved.

  “And what if we want things to go differently?” Marco asks.

  “If you force us to fight you, we’re not going to hold back. You respond violently, we cut you down, quick.” She points her weapon forward to accentuate her point. There’s something odd about the sword, something about the color. It’s paler than most steel, but also has a brighter shine to it, like she just got it brand new.

  “Sorry, what?” Leylin throughs up her arms in disbelief. “If we get violent? You’re the ones threatening to take our stuff.”

  “All I’m saying is, the choice is yours. You decide how this is going to go.”

  ***

  Gotavv, the driver, is not yet aware of the standoff that his passengers have gotten themselves into. Back by the water, something very different has captured his attention. Amid the variety of debris flowing down the current is a barrel with a pair of arms waving out of the top. The small figure inside is trying to reach for the shore, but his short arms can do little as he is pulled back towards the ocean. Gotavv waves back and calls out to him. “Hey! Hey over here!”

  The person trapped in the barrel doesn’t seem to notice him, too caught up in the current and their impending doom. After a few more attempts to get his attention, Gotavv runs to the back of the carriage and opens a small trunk space filled with supplies. He pulls out a hook tied to a rope and charges back towards the water. This time, the figure is waving in his direction.

  “Yes, good!” Gotavv calls over. “I can help. Hold on for a moment.”

  Dangling the rope, he spins the hook around several times before sending it soaring over the water. It lands with a splash several yards from the barrel, which teeters precariously as the creature struggles to maintain his balance.

  The small creature curses in a strange language. Drawing closer, he is even smaller than he originally appeared, likely no more than two feet in height. His face is devoid of facial hair, giving a childlike appearance, and his ears both end in points. He swipes at the rope in the water several times before giving up, cursing once more.

  Gotavv hastily pulls the rope back to the shore to try again. As he does, he shouts over to his companions by the woods, voice carried the distance by his deep, booming tone. “Folks? Adventurers? I am in need of assistance!”

  ***

  The adventurers in question are still in a standoff with the group of bandits in the forest. The bandits stare at the trio with their unmoving, cyclopean eyes. They hold their weapons in wait, ready to charge forward at any moment.

  “Why don’t we just call this a draw?” Emmitt asks. He is still holding his empty hands in a poised position as though wielding an invisible sword. “We’re both quite intimidating groups of people, we could both do quite a bit of damage to each other. We don’t have anything to prove, do we?”

  The leader keeps her pale blade pointed forward. “If you want us to move along, you know what you have to do. I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”

  Emmitt opens his mouth to say something, but he stops as another voice calls over from the water. Gotavv, shouting about needing help with something. In the panic it’s hard to discern what’s going on, but it’s clearly an emergency. Keeping his nonexistent weapon at the ready, Emmitt darts his eyes between the bandits and his ally down the hill, unsure what to do.

  Marco glances towards the water, then turns back to the bandits, weapons raised.

  Several of the bandits move closer, slinking down the hill.

  Emmitt lowers his hands, looking back to Gotavv.

  The bandit leader takes a step forward.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Gotavv continues his shouting.

  Marco remains poised, swords held steady.

  Emmitt raises his invisible weapon once again.

  Both of them look to Leylin.

  From the beginning, Leylin has kept her eyes fixed on the bandit leader. The look on her face now is one that they have seen many times before. A flash of anger. The hint of a smile. They know what happens next.

  “Ah, to Dagon with it all. It’ll be nice to stretch my legs.”

  Leylin charges forward.

  The bandits stumble down the hill to meet her in combat as Emmitt and Marco reluctantly follow behind. Emmitt has a particularly irritated look, cursing. “Baal Hamon, Leylin.”

  Bounding forward with long, powerful strides, Marco is quick to catch up. Still running towards the bandit leader, Leylin holds out her two-pronged weapon in his direction.

  “You know, I really shouldn’t be rewarding this,” Marco says. He slams one of his swords against her blade, which rebounds with a low humming noise. It becomes a blur as the blades vibrate. Satisfied, he breaks off to the side, where two bandits are approaching.

  The first bandit lunges towards Marco and swings his weapon. Marco’s boots glow as he leaps over eight feet in the air and lands on the other side of his attacker. He slashes into the man’s back, drawing a deep gash, then turns to deflect the sword of the second bandit approaching from the side. Again, he makes note of the unusually pale but lustrous complexion of his opponent’s blade. Before the man can strike again, he sweeps under his leg, sending him toppling over, and catches him with a sword to the chest. Two down.

  Marco darts out of the way as a gigantic figure barrels through his position like a charging bull. The bandit is holding a massive battleaxe, which he flings back and forth with untamed fury. Scrambling to escape his reach, Marco leaps onto a nearby tree, hooking the branches with his swords. The bandit continues his charge, slamming his axe halfway through the trunk and cracking the foundation.

  “By the ninth ring of hell…” Marco sputters, fighting to hold in place. As the tree collapses, he jumps down and drives both feet into his attacker’s chest. His boots glow and the man is slammed into the ground. Before he can recover, Marco throws a sword into his head, the painted eye on his mask acting as a bullseye.

  A moment of respite. Marco catches his breath as he retrieves his weapon. He feels the sweat on his face cool as it evaporates into the brisk, autumn air. Scanning the area, he can see some movement further into the trees. But there is something else now calling for his attention.

  “Marco!” Emmitt calls out. “Over here!”

  ***

  Leylin is locked in on the leader, charging towards her position. Arrows whiz past her head, but that is no source of discouragement. The twang of the bows and the rumble of the charging footsteps are welcome sensations as she greets the thrill of combat with open arms. She swings her weapon at the leader as they meet halfway down the hill, blades meeting in a satisfying clash.

  For a moment it is an honest duel. The leader recoils as the vibrating blades strike against her own sword and reverberate. She hastens to regain her footing, responding to Leylin with a quick series of deadly swipes. Leylin sidesteps the first few, but the last blow strikes hard against the frame of her shield. With a loud crashing sound, a concussive blast sends the leader flying into the bushes.

  The other bandits do not hesitate to move in. An archer steps into view, bow already drawn, and fires an arrow. There is a smaller crash as it bounces off the edge of Leylin’s shield. Two more bandits run in with radiant, polished-looking weapons. One of them swings down with his axe and is sent flying after it strikes her shield. The other slows to a stop as he sees his comrade soar past him. He keeps his sword pointed, holding it in both hands.

  “Hey, over here, shitmounds.”

  The voice is coming from behind the bandit. He steps backwards and glances over at the source of the noise. No speaker is visible.

  “I said over here.”

  The bandit switches his gaze back and forth between Leylin and the strange voice behind him. Still, no one has revealed themselves. His companion nearby pulls himself to his feet and begins to look around as well.

  “Getting closer…”

  While the bandits are distracted, Leylin bolts forward at full speed.

  “Shit.” The nearest man hastens to fire an arrow as she closes the gap between them. The arrow bounces off of Leylin’s shield and into his side. He cries out in pain, then falls silent as she slashes across his neck, snapping the bow along the way.

  Leylin turns back to face her remaining opponents. Their leader is nowhere to be seen, but two others are advancing slowly with her weapons drawn, leaves crunching with each step. Leylin grins. Her lips move, but her voice does not leave her mouth. Instead, it comes from deeper in the woods, calling them over in the opposite direction. “I’ve got your leader. Nobody move.”

  The bandits look at each other through tangled branches, uncertain. One of them keeps his eyes (well, eye) trained on Leylin as the other takes a few steps towards the source of the voice.

  “Just stay where you are,” her voice tells them. “When you’re ready, walk towards me with your weapons down.”

  The bandits share a look of understanding before heading off in separate directions. The first makes his way towards the mysterious voice, disappearing into the bushes. The other takes a few steps towards Leylin and stands his grown, holding his sword pointed. She runs to him, and their weapons meet. The vibrations travel through the man’s blade and he is unable to maintain his grip. As he drops his sword Leylin jabs both prongs of her blade directly through his chest. He falls limp with a gasp.

  The other man finally stumbles out of the bushes, weapon shaking in his hand. Though his face is not visible, the painted eye almost enhances his look of bewilderment, glancing around the area in confusion. Leylin raises her blade, feeling the buzz of energy run down through the hilt.

  “Finally figured it out?” she says, her voice syncing up with the one from the woods.

  The bandit holds his axe raised, but is still standing there with the same blank look.

  “Guess not.”

  Leylin runs forward and the bandit makes a desperate hack in a diagonal motion, missing completely. Leylin swipes across his face and he falls back, her blade cutting a thin slice across his mask. Through the tear of the fabric a lizard’s snout pokes out, bruised and bloodied. Panting, this reptilian creature tries to strike once more. His axe hits her shield and he is launched backwards, the force shaking his entire body. He does not get back up.

  Leylin steps back and surveys the area. She takes a deep breath of the cool, refreshing air, and smiles. Looking more energized than ever, she redirects her focus to track down her original target.