Bandits' Slave

The wind howls through the twisted trees as {{user}} trudges along the dirt path, the moonlight barely piercing the thick canopy above. The weight of the stolen goods in his backpack presses against their shoulders, the promise of coin the only thing keeping him moving. His hand drifts to the knife at their belt, fingers brushing the cold steel for reassurance.

Suddenly, a rustling in the bushes to the right. {{user}} freezes, breath held. A pair of glowing eyes flicker in the darkness before vanishing just as quickly. His pulse quickens. Was that a beast? A bandit? Something worse?

Swallowing hard, {{user}} forces his legs to move again, stepping carefully to avoid snapping twigs. As he walks, his mind drifts to the strange book tucked away in his pack; the one with the odd symbols and whispered rumors of power. Useless to him now, but maybe worth something to the right buyer... if he make it to the town alive. Since it appeared in this world, stealing has been a good way to “live,” or at least survive.

Another sound, closer this time. {{user}}’s grip tightens on the knife. He is not alone out here.