Myth, at this point, had gotten used to being alone. After leaving his father some time before, armored and armed, he had to walk quite some distance before reaching a town. Days, actually, just trudging through the dark green forest, always under the shade of the leafy branches of the oak forest. He could hunt well enough; his arm was strong, his aim true, his eyesight sharp, and his tracking adequate. Throwing a knife is a much deadlier option for him than a bow; he threw with more accuracy and speed than others might draw and shoot a bow. While lacking in range, Myth had ways to get in close without alarming the local wildlife.

That was one of the Blademaster's more important lessons- melee or throwing weapons may be deadly, but they're no use against a trained archer. Getting in close without being skewered is a must-know. Training with animals more alert than any soldier is great practice- despite not being very stealthy, Myth can move quietly. Maybe not blend in, but stay unnoticed. But that was when he was being stealthy. Today was not a stealthy day. 

He rode down the worn-in path towards Amaryth, still some distance away but the most direct route from... where he was. Or so the map said. He figured that maps couldn't be trusted all that well, unless you get them from a cartographer's guild in a large city, such as a capital one. Part of the reason why he needed to go to Amaryth. His horse clip-clopped along the path- he had already decided that it was a very well-bred horse, taken care of and carefully cared for by the stablemaster he had bought it from. A beautiful brown horse. Well, beautiful in his opinion- the horse was odd, in that it was much smaller than a warhorse or something else more suitable for a warrior, had shaggy-ish hair, and was rather stout. The man who had raised him called him "Tug," and said there's no way any horse would beat him at anything. (reference)

Riding along on him, he found that the horse seemed to have endless stamina- he trotted and trotted and trotted, never getting tired. He had been surprised by the little horse's sprint- very fast, and able to jump out of the way, or jump over things. And now, he was riding it towards Amaryth, intent on getting some know-how on their way of doing things with the sharp pointy steel pokers, and on getting known and maybe be some kind of... blademaster, really. Not much way to put it in any different way. 

His thoughts of his goals and his horse was interrupted when he took notice of something didn't belong in this kind of forest- a small piece of tan cloth, snagged on a prickly bush on the edge of the road. Taking care not to move any differently, he kept riding on. As he approached the bush, a man stepped out, a rusty sworded sheathed through a rusty iron ring attached to his belt. A primitive way to carry a weapon, but it worked well enough. The man strode out in front of him, still a short distance away, calling, "Halt! These are civilized lands, mate, and one must pay for the protection put on these roads! So if you'd kindly..." he eyed the coinpurse at Myth's side in a decidedly greedy way, "hand over a good tax, we'll let you be on your way. Wouldn't want to get in the way of important business, as a man such as yourself might be heading off to!"

Myth, on horse with about six saddlebags, with two longswords sheathed on both hips, a shield across his back, and several knives and daggers both hidden and revealed across his person eyed the man skeptically. He had read plenty of books- these were obviously bandits. "Alright, why don't you bring your men out from the trees so I can pay you all evenly? Wouldn't want to have you squabbling for each other's throats if only one of you got the money, now would we?" Myth said, dismounting from his short horse, and slowly walking forward to meet the man. Without the man even saying anything, about half a dozen men sporting hunting bows and only one or two longbows, and a great variety of clothing, all came forward, eager to go ahead and get their money. As they gathered around Myth, he held his hands out at what he felt was the right distance, and said, "Now you all don't get too close, now, I need room to swing my blades."

They all paused, being confused and then realizing what he meant when he drew both swords, and swung, the bows in the half-dozen bandit's hands. He had swung from the front to the back, and was now eyeing the leading swordsman in a dangerous way. The bandit, seeing that he still had him outnumbered drew his own sword, intent on the large coinpurse tied to Myth's belt, jingling with every move. The other bandits, seeing that the man who was supposed to give them more and more until they had everything, drew a variety of rusty or nicked daggers and shortswords, each of them grinning with the feral hunger of wild wolves. 

Myth took a look around the bandit group arrayed around him, shrugged, and said, "Very well, I will take your coin today." He spun his blades in front of him, and as the bandits seemed to take up their courage and step forward to attack, he launched himself at the left group, ploughing through them while slashing a knee and a hand. He heard a yelp and a cry; one had fallen and the other had dropped his sword. The next two swings brought about a clean cut to the chest of the third man and a cut down his thigh, which also dropped him. They seemed to have relied on scare tactics and numbers- they had a horrible pain resistance when it's combined with shock. As Myth broke away, he moved towards the forest, the bandits following him. The three that he had wounded had begun getting up, their intentionally-small wounds being covered up with the heat of hate, and they began moving after him, at a slightly slower pace.

As Myth receded into the treeline, and the world became a shady green darkness, the bandits followed eagerly, as if they'd have a better advantage against the retreating man.

A bright flash, a thunderous boom, and ten minutes passed before Myth emerged from the forest again. Behind him, hidden in the forest, were seven men tied around a tree, three dead, the others wounded but with rudimentary bandages on their wounds. Their weapons were hidden in the tree above; their coinpurses emptied by Myth. While another would think it dishonorable, Myth simply took what he could get. He had honor, for sure, but they weren't needing it, and it'd encourage them to stop looting after being looted themselves. Hopefully, that is. 

Myth mounted Tug once more, who had wandered off to the opposite side of the road and was busy munching on grass, and rode off towards Amaryth, where the forests were not as thick.