A quick thrust of his blade found a soft stomach. The young man’s mouth made a shocked “oh” as he slid off the blade and onto the floor.

“You picked the wrong time to get into the hero business, kid,” said the dark cloaked ranger. He picked up a piece of brown bread from a table as he walked through the tavern. The customers had long since fled. Even when new heroes tried their mettle, townsfolk knew it wasn’t yet safe to believe.

“They won’t write songs for you, boy. You’ll be a whisper within a month. And in a years time? It’ll just be this blood stain to remind people to mind their own damn business. You should have stayed home, plowed your fields & your wife. You’re nothing but dirt now.” The man let silence rest in between them like a wedge

“Someone tried to sell me on being a hero. So I sold them a plot of land- right where they stood and for one thrust. He bled like a trampled horse,” the man spat on the ground at the memory. “You’re less than the pig shit on my shoes.” He tossed the remainder of the bread onto the floor and walked out.