The wind blew across the barren plains. There was nothing growing on them but several strains of grass. There was a single road across it. Dark clouds drowsed across the sky chased by the cold wind. A lonely warrior strode across the road, raising the dust long undisturbed. His head was bowed down and he walked slowly as if he carried the whole world on top of his shoulders. Dark shadows raced across his face. His thoughts lingered in the past, in the time when he was happy, the time when he had a place he called home. He could see it all: the small, but very beautiful house of his, his even more beautiful wife and his small boy running, playing in the field. Then they came. Mercenaries from the king, bowing to no law except the law of the coin, coming to pillage, thinking they own everything. He easily dispatched them to the other world, but the others pleaded the king to punish this act of “hostility towards them”. The king, heavily burdened from the incoming war, unwillingly exiled him for many years. He was forced to leave without even saying goodbye to his family, never knowing of their fate again. The gods called him in his dreams and said that he must wander the world for ten years, always helping others, not for reward or fame, but for proving himself to them.
Seven years passed since then. He wandered from town to town, form one secluded place to another. Word about him spread quickly, and he had a hard time helping all, for he was forbidden to turn his back to anyone. Then a familiar smell awoke him from his trance.
He could smell fire. In the distance something was burning, much bigger than an ordinary camp fire. He then saw the horrors the flame hid. Ten bodies, man woman and child were lying on the cold ground. Pools of blood drenched across the dry lands, reddening the soil forever. The sight reminded him of days long past, and anger overwhelmed him. He started to seek any trail of the perpetrators of this crime. Then he saw a small trail of blood leading away from the pile of corpses. He walked as though he was possessed by some unknown force that forced him to go forward only. He didn’t notice that he entered a thick forest. His expression was almost frantic. Then he saw them. Three rogues in a small clearing between the trees. In the middle of the clearing a pig was roasting on a strong and wild fire. On one side laid a large bag of gold, some of it spilled in the grass. The light from the fire reflected from the gold coins onto their faces. They looked it all the time, mesmerized and charmed. Near it laid a young woman, a real beauty. Tears were running on her cheeks, her angelic face trembled with fear. She was tied and gagged and her beautiful dress turned into rags form these brutes. Her left arm was bleeding.
The lone warrior felt rage beating the best of him. Over the forest, a thunderstorm was ready to pour itself down. His hand grasped the hilt of his steel sword, his gift from the father of his bride. It shook violently. He desperately tried to control himself, but felt losing the battle. Men like this had him exiled, away form his land, his home, the woman he loved. They would not go unpunished.
A single lightning flew across the sky. When the flash was gone he was at the opposite side of the clearing. A drop of blood fell from the tip of his sword. The three rogues froze in place, their faces grinned with surprise. The bodies fell and their heads rolled in the fire. While their surprised expression melted away from their faces, he came near the woman and cut the ropes binding her arms. Then he strode back in the wilderness, never looking back, to complete his legacy.
