Like Frodo, or Odysseus, you have the absolute steadfast hope that the unforeseen chasms of doubt, the innumerable odds, the ghastly adversity that will doubtless befall you will break effortlessly before your unyielding faith like waves against a tall ships bow. You feel like Sampson, or mighty Hercules; your armor thick, your wits like flint, your weapons at the ready. Yes, in that first step, you are all you ever dreamed you could be. Powerful, poised, and prepared. You have carefully selected your armaments, meticulously shined and sharpened your blades, tightened your sling, and set aside your stones. You are calm, you are equipped, you are ready.
You take another step. Then comes the giant...
Suddenly, you realize how thin your armor actually is. More like a grade-schooler's Halloween costume. From out of nowhere, wild beasts attack your flank. As you flail wildly with your short, pointed stick, you realize what you thought was a mighty sword is no more than a barbecue utensil...you take a moment to ponder the irony of the situation as flame bellows down upon you from high above. You raise your steadfast shield to defend the blow, and quickly toss away what appears to be a aged and rusted garbage can lid searing its crumpled brand in your forearm. The monstrous black-winged serpent utters what seems to be evil laughter from behind its rows of dagger-like fangs as it swoops in for its evening meal...served medium rare. You take another step, quicker, more pronounced, as you reach into your quiver for an arrow. You arm your bow, you aim, you....duck quickly as your trusty bow bursts into flame. With nothing left to your avail, you cry out "HELP ME"...
