Main Character ^^,

A single travel-weary horse and rider trotted down the moonlit road. It was a well-traveled highway, but not within the Sarcoranian rule and, therefore, not paved. The night was quiet, except for the sound of hooves thudding a measured cadence, the jingle of harness and bridle, and the occasional snore from the cloaked and sleeping rider. Despite the clear, moonlit night, it was impossible to distinguish any discernible features on the rider's face. He was slumped in his saddle with the cowl of his cloak obscuring most of his face, snoring, and obviously completely unaware of his surroundings. The night seemed peaceful enough--until a gang of five bandits burst from the trees lining the road. The two bandits on horses hurried to cut off the sleeping traveler from the front and behind. Meanwhile, the remaining three on foot converged on either side, attempting to pull him from the saddle. They were unpleasantly surprised to discover that their quarry was no longer asleep--nor groggy as most people are when they have just woken up.
Before any of the bandits could react, the two on the rider's right side fell away clutching daggers in their throats. The mounted bandit from behind drew his rusty short sword and rushed forward to the aid of his dying companions. The traveler, however, was faster, and punched the bandit in the face before the rusty sword posed any real threat. Being too stunned and concerned with his broken nose to notice, the bandit couldn't stop the traveler from seizing his rusty blade and slicing the head off of the bandit to the rider's left. Then the rider whipped around to ran the blade through its previous owner. The traveler left the rusty blade stuck in its owner and drew his own blade which had been hidden under his cloak. This blade was neither rust-splotched nor short. It was a curiously curved saber and razor sharp. The remaining bandit, seeing his comrades die before his eyes within seconds of each other, took one terrified look at his quarry-turned-threat before wheeling his horse around and galloping down the road.
The traveler chuckled grimly before kicking his horse into a gallop in pursuit. Though travel-weary, the traveler's horse was in better condition and of better breeding than the bandit's. Needless to say, the traveler caught up to the bandit easily. Swinging his sword in an arc, he sliced the bandit deeply across the ribs. The wound was deep, but not deep enough to kill immediately. The injured bandit slumped forward, and promptly fell off his still-galloping horse. The victorious rider grabbed the bandit-horse's reins before it galloped away. The rider dismounted from his own horse to quiet the bandit-horse. Satisfied that it was calmed, the rider walked it to a nearby tree and tethered it there. His own mount wandered to the grass to graze. The rider had no fear of his mount running off.
Turning from the now-grazing mounts, the traveler strode to the dying bandit. With the full moon bright overhead, it was easy to see every feature of the dying man's hard face. It was still impossible, however, for the bandit to see his killer's face. The killer knelt down on one knee and gazed into the dying man's eyes. Saying nothing, the rider pushed back his hood to reveal--.
"A woman?" the bandit gasped wetly. His eyes practically bulged out of his sockets at the sight of this woman who just defeated his band of criminals easily.
The woman smiled. "Very perceptive, aren't you. When you're dying that is. Didn't expect a woman when you first attacked, did you now?" The bandit struggled to speak, to curse, to scream, to utter anything intelligible, but could only gurgle blood in reply. "Next time," the woman went on, "you'll think a little more before you decide to attack anyone on the road, won't you? Or perhaps not, since that gash will kill you before anyone finds you." She stared menacingly into her victim's eyes before shaking her head in resigned disgust at the bandit's stupidity before rising to her feet. She resolutely turned her back on the still-dying man and collected the two mounts. With a few soft-spoken words, the mounts followed her gentle tug on the reins peacefully.
"Are you really just going to let him die like that, Logan?" asked a deep voice from nowhere. The victor of the skirmish, Logan, glared at her mount as if he had voiced the question.
"What are you now, my conscience?" Her voice was a rich mezzo-soprano, tinged with a bit of frustration. "Of course i'm going to let him die. he and his pitiful band attacked us first, remember? Intending to kill. Why shouldn't i leave him for dead? Besides, I really hate bandits." Her mount said nothing, only stopped and stared fixedly at Logan, as if refusing to budge an inch until she changed her mind.
Groaning in exasperation at her self-righteous mount, Logan released the talking mount's reins to pull back her arm and turned as if to throw something in the dying bandit's direction. She uttered three quiet words and launched a fireball. The bandit became a pile of ashes in an instant. A stout wind conveniently picked up the ashes and scattered them so that no trace was left of the bandit, not even his blood.
Logan exhaled heavily, quieted her new horse, then glared at her stubborn steed. "There. Are you happy now?" And with that, she and her two mounts walked back to the other dead bodies. Logan retrieved and cleaned her daggers before sheathing them up her sleeves, took whatever food or money the bandits had, and collected the other bandit's horse. She threw off the flea-infested saddles and the worn saddlebags. She distributed her own packs and gear evenly between the three horses before tying the two bandit horses to a lead string. With that done, Logan mounted her own horse and continued riding in the direction she was going originally.
From the moon's position, Logan knew she should stop to sleep after an hour or two more of travel. She kicked the horses into an easy canter and the night was once again quiet and peaceful.
"Idiotic, stubborn, self-righteous brute," Logan cursed at her mount.