There's always the Red Knight. He had some funky shit going on. I don't quite want to rule him out as a potential Hero, not after meeting his sisters. They seem to have turned out well for having a brother of questionable actions.
Which leaves me, once again, trying to figure out what my part in this story is. They're going to be disappointed when they realize I've got no magic.
I can hear fighting somewhere ahead and my step slows. "Are you taking me to battle?"
"I am taking you to the Shadow Knight. He will know best where you can make peace."
I roll my eyes and continue to follow, thinking hard about whether it's better to run now or wait to see how this plays out. Are there more hints ahead that I might need?
I hate to admit it, but I kinda want to see the Shadow Knight's thighs again. Where else am I gonna meet someone like him again? Or a glimpse of his biceps. I'm not sure which is more appealing. Maybe his chest. If he hadn't had his legs tucked when he somersaulted over my head, I might've seen something more interesting than his perfect ass.
Not that it wasn't nice, but if he's really wearing nothing under that kilt, I would've liked -
"I'll hold them off, m'lady! Run!"
Jarred out of the daydream, I stop in my tracks to see the scrawny teen brandishing a sword as a sweaty, dirty, much larger warrior with a green circle on his tunic runs towards us.
"Why don't we both run?" I ask, sizing up the attacker.
The boy hesitates then dashes back to me and takes my hand, darting from the trail and into the forest. We're in the damned annoying woods only a few steps before we break out of the forest into a field. I trip over something, but don't have time to look down. The kid is fast and pulling me pretty hard for someone his size.
He's taking me towards the sword fights, which are at once dangerous and awkward. The men don't move quickly with the massive weapons and I wonder why this is an effective way of battle at all. It seems like it would take forever for someone to win.
The kid winds his way through the battles, yanking at me when I get too fascinated about this archaic way of warfare and start to slow.
"Where are we -" Something warm sprays me and I stop, horrified. It tastes like blood. A glance at my clothing is enough to tell me it is blood. "Omigod!"