With no time to spare you slide into your body and try to settle into place. The last thing you see is the demonic angel standing over you with a flaming sword. The bladed is point down, feet over your heart. You feel a click as the blade rushes towards you. Nothing.

A deep breath and cough rouse you from the eternal slumber. You skitter back away from the angel beast, but hear laughter. When you open your eyes you see a man standing before you. He's tall and muscular. Black hair hangs in waves over his forehead and ears but no further. Dark brown eyes twinkle in amusement.

"It is going to get you?" he laughes. "Maybe kill you?" His clothing is strange but after the ogre you're not entirely surprised. He's wearing armor, thick leather with metal rivets and all sorts of buckles. At his side hangs a sword and crossbow. He's the one who shot you. Who killed you.

"You killed me," you accuse. "And I didn't do a thing!"

"You're fine," he said. "And you were helping her." He kicks Gertrude, who you see is now tied and gagged. "She works with an orge," he explains before you can ask. "Brings him people to eat. Probably eats them herself." The bag slides off his shoulder and lands on the ground with a thud.

"He's dead," you confess as he digs around inside and pulls out a cloth bag.

"Really?" he asks in a disbelieving tone. "You know this how?"

"I killed him." The man stops and looks at you.

"Really?" You nod.

"We wrapped a chain around his throat and pulled until he stopped breathing. Then I put a knife through his ribs."

"Really." The man stands, stares at you, then looks around the forest floor. A moment later he tosses you a thick stick about three feet long. "Defend youself," he orders as he draws his sword.

You have strange hobbies, you know and embrace this, and have spent the past several years taking lessons in sword fighting at a place downtown. It's fun, and exercise, and something neat to talk about, but you'd only ever day-dreamed that it be useful. You stand in position and defend his swings, parry with ease, and, once you're both drenched in sweat and breathing heavy, you deliver a blow to his neck, pulling short at the very last moment.

"Very good," he says as he eyes your chiseled and frayed stick. "Welcome to Hell, the most realistic and never ending MMORG the internet has only had wet dreams about. Dragons, orcs, and trolls are real, and you only die if you lose your head." He's trying to explain quickly so you lower the stick. He steps back and relaxes. "You're also a wanted race, you can't speak English, or wear those clothes in public. So you're going to need help and I'm willing to do that." He hesitates and looks over at Gertrude.

"If..." you prompt.

"If you kill her." You look over at the helpless woman, bound and gagged, contorted over her heavily pregnant belly. "She's killed dozens of people and made them supper. You were going to be next. There's a bounty on her head for thousand gold, or the equivilant of hundred thousand dollars." He stops rattling reasons and offers you his dagger, hilt first.

I'll finish the deed.

I can't kill a helpless woman, surely she deserves a fair trial.