A Day in the Life
By Andrew Lyman

The lone Warrior pants as he clutches his gut. He has been caught off guard. His eyes shut tightly as the pain threatens to take over. "Stay in control. Stay in control," he tells himself over and over again through gritted teeth. He pulls a small vial from a bag tied under his cloak to his back. Using his front teeth, the bleeding fox pulls the cork from the top of the vial and quickly downs the contents, like a shot. The magical potion inside begins to take effect almost instantly, mending his wounds much faster than any bandage could have. The magic imbued inside the potion does not restore lost limbs, but it will quicken the bodies healing rate. In a way, it makes his body age faster. Deep gashes heal in seconds, his hair even grows an inch every time he downs a vial. Because he uses these potions often, in the six years since he took up the sword, he has seemed to age ten. In reality the fox is only twenty-four, but he appears to be nearly thirty.

"It's wrong," he tells himself under his breath as the scar closes and his fur grows over it again, "I cannot let it continue." He looks back in the direction he ran from. He's left a trail of dripping blood, but it is barely visible under the moonlight. "I'll leave these here." he says to himself as he removes his cloak. Inside his bag is a smaller pouch. He puts the rest of the vials of healing solution inside the pouch. The larger bag holds some dried meat, a water bottle, a thin blanket, and a bow and quiver. His bastard-sword remains in its sheath at his side. He piles his bag underneath a bush and drapes his old and heavy cloak over it. He plants his oak staff into the soft forest soil right near his cloak. He does not worry about it being found. The bandits who surprised him earlier are dead.

The moon was nearly full and the quiet fox ran under it without the camoflauge of his dark green cloak. He was traveling to Crossroads when he had been waylayed by the bandits. A long time ago, Andrés made a vow to himself. He had reached the western coast and as he stood out over the crashing waves. He vowed only to kill those deserving of his justice. Waylaying travelers in the night was hardly a noble lifestyle. The fox tries to remember where he is going so that he would be able to find his way back to his bag. He used to live in a forest at one time, and was very used to them. He also is gifted with an innate sense of direction. He has only been running for a half hour and already he sees something. In the distance the reddish glow of a large fire illuminates the trees near it. He starts toward is, but approaches with caution. Before hs gets clsoe enough to see the actual flame he sees a coyote standing next to a tree, scanning the night forest. Andrés freezes in his tracks, until he is certain the coyote is looking in the other direction. Having learned from five years of experience, with some tips from a druid, Andrés steps with the utmost quietness as he approaches the coyote with his hand on the hilt of his blade. Andrés wonders how near others might be. How fast would they react to the coyote yelling for them? How many would they be? It is a little late to be wondering such thoughts only a mere fifteen meters away from his prey. He creeps another five meters closer, and finds a stone on the ground. Andrés chucks the stone off in the other direction of the coyote. It makes a loud thunk as it hits a trunk then falls to the ground. The coyote shouts at the stone "Who's there?!" and draws a scimitar as he does so.

Andrés rushes the rest of the ten meters before the coyote can realize it was a thrown stone. He cuts across the coyote who howls in pain. Enraged and in pain, the coyote turns to face Andrés who has already initiated another attack. The coyote barely stops the second swipe of Andrés' swift sword from gutting him, but Andrés' veins are filled with adrenaline and his speed is too much for the coyote. A few more cuts and the coyote is helpless on the ground, and Andrés is unscathed. Andrés sees the fear in the coyote's eyes. He hesitates. The coyote sees the hesitation and grabs his scimitar for a desparate last attempt to at least maim his attacker. In an instant, Andrés remembers what kind of person this is, and forgives himself for what he does.

The coyote's body falls to the ground, several vital arteries severed. Andrés makes sure he receives the most painless death. But no death by sword is completely painless. Andrés looks down at his kill. There is no time for a proper burial, the others likely heard his howls and are on their way. Would they be coming from the fire? Or would they be coming from the side? Andrés has no time to think and runs straight towards the fire. As the excitement of the battle eminates from him, he relaxes enough to at least run quietly, as the druid taught him to.

Andrés gets lucky. Luck is what has kept him alive for over six years as a self taught warrior. No one runs from the direction of the fire to help the coyote. Andrés closes the distance between hmself and the fire much faster, his veins still pumping with the excitment of the kill. As soon as he sees the actual flames through the trees, however, he slows his pace, and approaches with caution again. Then he gets close enough to see the fire. It's the same group of bandits that the coyote belonged to, and the two who attacked him. They are throwing sacks onto the fire. Andrés covers his nose. The smell tells him what is in those sacks. They are burning their victims' bodies. Had Andrés failed to fight off the two bandits that surprised him earlier, this would likely be his fate as well.

He regrets now having left his bow and quivier with his bag under a bush. However, the bandits are right next to the fire, and as such they would have very little night vision. Andrés takes advantage of this and comes at them from the darkest place possible. An expert in moving silently, the fox aproaches silently and is unheard. There are five bandits tossing bodies onto the fire. Andrés hesitates. He was nearliy gutted after fighting only two of these bandits. Does he stand a chance fighting five at once? He breathes in deeply and rushes towards the nearest bandit, a short haired mutt with a couple visible scars on his face. Andrés thrusts his drawn sword into the back of the bandit. The mutt lets out a blood curdling yowl as the fox presses the sword all the way in, then yanks it upwards. The thick smell of blood fills Andrés nostrils as it splatters all over his tunic. It fills him with strength and excitment. As the mutt's yowling becomes a gurgle, the others bandits rush towards Andrés. He yanks his sword out and swipes sideways accross the mutt's neck with enough force to decapitate him. The dog's mangled body falls foward onto the ground with a flump, as his blood trickles down into the firepit.

Andrés snarls at the other four bandits quickly drawing their blades. He killed the mutt before they even got to him. It is exhilarating. Two more mutts, a cougar, and a charismatic wolf come at him with drawn blades. Time slows down as they all run at him, ready to slice. Can he stop all the blades from finding their mark? He knows he can't. A glint in Andrés' eyes in combination with the snarl on his face and the blood splattered over his tunic and fur creates a vision that seems to frighten the two mutts. The cougar's features harden, but the wolf is unmoved. The wolf is obviously the leader of this group. Andrés knows he must kill him first. His sword is already raised to defend against the blow. The cougar is behind the wolf and cannot attack without cutting his leader. The two mutts however are beside the wolf, and one swings his blade. It only grazes the fox's side, barely even drawing blood. As Andrés fights the wolf, they swing more. Andrés is fast and agile, and easily dodges their swings even while fighting the wolf. But even as he tries to elude their swings, they land a couple slices on his shoulders and arms. The pain of the wounds only infuriates the fox more, and he becomes enraged.

The cougar stalls, and does not attack. He watches as the wolf struggles to fight this relentless warrior. He knows his leader will die this day, someone he has come to respect. A look of fear and regret finds itself on the cougar's muzzle. The two mutts do not reconize that their leader is fighting a losing battle. The cougar hesitates, watching the battle for a little longer, then he turns and runs. His fate will not be the same as the wolf's. Perhaps he can find another group of bandits to join, there are many in the area. The two mutts stop swinging at the quick fox and watch the cougar run. They look at eachother, and are fearful. Without them attacking, Andrés has the edge needed to not only parry all of the Wolf's attacks, but to slice upwards accross his chest. As the wolf clutches his chest, Andrés cuts again, slicing the muscle on his thigh. He falls, kneeling and looks up at Andrés who, without hesitation, slices a third time accross the wolf's throat.

Andrés has no problem running down and killing both mutts as they attempt to flee. He stands over the bodies, panting, and covered in their blood. The wounds that the mutts inflicted on him start to sting. The adrenaline dies down and Andrés returns to reality. He takes out another healing vial and chugs it, feeling the thin scars on his shoulders form. He is again lucky. Had the cougar attacked like both the mutts had, Andrés would not have survived. But that cougar had wanted to live badly enough to not chance it. The blood covered fox finds a clean part of his tunic, and uses it to wipe his sword clean. He finally sheaths his tool for murder again in its sheath and breathes a sigh. He bends over the two mutts. He finds their money pouches, and searches them. They only have a few silver pieces each. However when he returns to the still raging bonfire and searches the wolf, he finds a pouch filled to the brim with gold.

It is sad how a life of killing can be so profitable. Andrés thinks about who the money belonged to before these bandits stole it and murdered them. Andrés luggs the bodies onto the fire, and tosses on a couple more logs. These bandits have the same fate that they have dealt to who knows how many. Andrés tosses a coin into the again raging fire.

"May you bandits rot in whatever redemption you have earned, but may your victims finally rest in peace," Andrés says, as light grows in the eastern sky. The pouch of gold barely fits in his own with his healing vials. Andrés makes his way back to his bag and cloak, the blood on his clothes and fur now dry. He will have to bath in a creek and clean his clothes. He needs more food for his bag, but also he needs hiw tunic repaired, and replacement potion for the healing vials he downed. No one would sell him these with blood all over him. For now, Andrés wraps his cloak around him, effectively covering the caked blood on his clothes. "This has been a good night," Andrés says aloud to himself, "You have earned enough gold to last you another week, and you have stopped a group of bandits from the evil that they do. But there are other groups like that in this area. This group may not even be completely eliminated. That coyote was only one watchman. I'm sure there were others situated around that fire. And of course that damnable cougar ran off while you were fighting. At least you killed their leader. But then, maybe any bandits left will join one of the other groups nearby? And that cougar will tell them about me. There is no way I'd be able to take out all of them. I know! When I reach Crossroad, I will tell people at taverns. Merchants will want the roads safe for travel. Other adventurers will crave the excitement and money gained from the kill. After all, you earned yourself a decent bit from this one group. Yes that is what you will do. But first you need to find a creek to clean up in, and then you will need to find a nice hidden place to rest. After all, you haven't slept all night, and yesterday was spent traveling the whole day. Yes sleep sounds nice..."

He continues to talk to himself as he walks, easing his mind. Trying to forget the fact that he just ended several lives, trying to forget how excited he had been while fighting, and trying to forget how much he had enjoyed it. There was a reason Andrés chose to be a lone warrior. At least this time he did not lose himself. He was proud of that. He came close, and he knew that the sight of this beserker inside him is what scared the two mutts, and kept the cougar from attacking. But he found himself again before something horrible happened. He looks up at the sky, now filled with twilight. Andrés rubs the dried blood from his muzzle and face fur. So many days and nights are similar to this for Andrés. He does not love it but does not hate it either. Ridding the world of bandits like that is the reason he still weilds his sword to kill. He eventually finds a creek to bathe in. The chilly water wakes him long enough to find a comfortable and hidden place to rest. He pulls his weathered dark green cloak over him, clutches his sword hilt, and finally gets some much needed sleep.