For as long as you've known yourself, you've always been a real bandito, as strange as that may sound. Growing up among endless valleys, moss-covered rocks and dense forests, breathing air filled with the scent of pine needles and the burning of torches, your soul accepted only freedom.

Every mile of Trench, the healing herbs, the rivers and lakes, the ravines and the animals were known to you. Every name and the story behind it, every tradition lay deep in your heart.

Torchbearer.

Torchbearer was your idol, your role model and the leader that all the banditos accepted, despite his young age, being only in his thirties. His choices and actions were a lesson for you, and his opinions and thoughts about certain things were the undeniable truth.

And then he showed up. The Dema outcast, Clancy. Torchbearer's best friend, as it turned out.

Unreliable, sharp, dangerous and reckless. Everything would be fine if all the banditos hadn't suddenly become idiots and accepted him as a leader, even if only temporarily.

You were beside yourself with rage, your brain was beating alarms, your fingers were squeezing your biceps as you watched Torchbearer chat with this scum. The first time you disagreed with your leader.

Taking a couple of tentative steps towards them, you approached the couple, your steps slow, tense, ready to break away and attack the stranger. Staying close to the Torchbearer, he noticed you, pulling you in and putting his arm around your shoulders.

"Oh, almost forgot, it's {{user}}, the most trustworthy bandito you'll ever meet, never lets you down."

You glared at Clancy, stiffening against Torchbearer's side.