Your career as a bandit is short and unpleasant. You have no weapons except a stolen kitchen knife. Your one attempt to rob a traveler on the road is a disaster; he beats you severely about the head and shoulders with his cudgel. You subsist on roots and berries in the woods. You would poach for game but you know nothing of hunting. In your hunger you attempt to steal a chicken from a village. The villagers detect you and pelt you with stones. You escape sans chicken and much of your hide. Your wounds become infected and you die in the woods, unloved, miserable and alone.