Tim looked out through the southern gates of the city at the hills and farmland beyond. It was morning, and the sun rising to his left glittered on the cow ponds and shone through the golden grasses. A fresh breeze smelling only slightly of manure ruffled Tim’s short hair.

He had stopped to go through his supplies one last time before setting off on the multi-day journey, patting each of his pockets as he went through his mental checklist of the supplies he needed. He accidentally patted Philbert, who squeaked in annoyance.

“Oops! Sorry. Well, Philbert, you think we’ve got everything?” Tim asked the rat in his front shirt pocket. A woman burdened with two children walking nearby gave him a funny look and crossed the street, but Tim ignored her. There was no response from the rat hidden in the front pocket of his shirt, but it reassured Tim anyways. You know, I think this might be the first time I’m travelling to the south, and to the Bastille no less! Mom and Dad would never believe it! I should send them a letter when I - Tim quieted, remembering why he had the opportunity to travel.

Suddenly, a voice shouted out. “Oi! No loitering! Move your fucking feet before I move them for you!” Tim yelped, surprised and angry that someone could be so rude so early in the morning. Then Tim caught sight of the owner of the voice, a heavily muscled guardsman who was striding towards Tim from his post at an aggressive pace, and decided he wasn’t that angry after all, and that moving his ‘fucking feet’ was a good idea.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A few days later, Tim felt he was thoroughly gross. He had slept in a few hay bales, hadn’t washed his hair in days, and his skin crawled and itched. But he was there, maybe? Actually, hopefully not.

“Philbert, are you sure this is the right place?” Tim asked.

Like a tumor extracting life from the forest, an enormous black stone castle sat upon the bald, well-trampled brown hill before Tim. Like veins, narrow winding tracks teeming with men as small as ants led up to the behemoth.

A monotone voice affirmed his worse fears.

“Well fuck me, what’d I expect? Terrifying fortress? Check. Easily defendable position on a hill? Check. Made with suspicious stones? Check.”

With each observation Tim made from the tree line, the blood slipped away from his head, taking with it his plans and goals. The men were setting up defenses all around the muddy hill, digging the trenches deeper and destroying their own bridges. Even an ally would struggle to get up the muddy hill, but an enemy? With no place to hide? Thousands of arrow slits glared at Tim, as if daring him to try his luck.

Philbert spoke once again. “Tim. You need to hide, Tim.”

Wow, thanks for the very specific warning, Tim thought as he dove for cover in a nearby bush. “Fucking bushes, again? Alright buddy, what’s going on? Mind telling ol’ Tim any actual detai…” Right after that, the reason for Philbert’s warning came into view.

From his inglorious, muddy hiding place in the bushes, Tim could only say one thing to finish his sentence. “Well. Those are demons.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The ground trembled and the beasts of the forest grew silent as countless misshapen animals, led by the gray-skinned people, marched towards the Bastille.

On the ramparts of the Bastille, shouts from the guards could be heard, warning those inside of the approaching threat. From Tim’s hiding place, he could see multiple steel-covered heads poke up over the Bastille walls to take in the slowly approaching threats. The helmets grew in number, until a single, unarmored face emerged, followed by a mail-plated body leaping on top of the ramparts. “Shit!” Tim stood up, then quickly hid again. He watched the apparently suicidal man fall a little too slowly. Then falling figure began to glow, and Tim realized she wasn’t a man at all.

The great hero Elena had arrived, and every living thing in the vicinity trembled and shuddered under the intoxicating rays of holy light surrounding her grew, until Tim had to peer through a slit between his fingers.

All the way at the bushes, Tim could feel the sheer aura of power she was emitting in every bone of his body. “Hehe, Philbert, come out and take a look. The power of a hero.”

Tim grinned in almost boyish excitement. For all of their failings, the might of the heroes on display still did not fail to amaze him. From the corner of his eye, Tim could see the rat in his pocket poke its face out to catch a glimpse. For a few minutes, everything, from the monsters, to the soldiers of the Bastille, to Tim seemed to stand still, as even nature herself held her breath.

The stillness was shattered as the leading demon, one with a strange, bloody mark on his forehead, strode forward with a sneer and began to speak, but Tim was too far to make out what he was saying.

“Tim.”

The half-elf in question looked down at his shirt pocket in curiosity. “Yeah buddy?”

“It’s time to go Tim. The lesser ones have spoken, spoken to me. They have found a secret route into the prison of stone and iron, one forgotten by all but the ones who scuttle unseen.” Philbert hopped out of Tim’s pocket and started to skitter along the tree line.

With a muffled shout of “Wait for me buddy!”, Tim followed in hot pursuit, make sure to stay out of sight of the demons and the men of the Bastille. Behind him, he could hear a great many-throated shout of pure rage thunder from from the direction of the monsters, echoed by a softer but more familiar human war cry from the hero. The battle began and the peace of the forest shattered under the screams.

After a few minutes of running after his little ratty friend, Tim finally caught up to Philbert, who stopped outside of a rotting, wooden cover of what looked and smelled like a sewer outlet. Tim felt ill. “Right. Of course it can always get worse. Philbert, I assume I have to crawl through… that?”

The rat looked at the wooden cover, and then back to Tim, and gave a short nod. “We both must,” The rat said, his mouth still unmoving, “I must guide you, and lead you to my friend, my good friend. Hurry, hurry. The strong ones will not fight forever.” With that said, Philbert squirmed through the gaps of the wooden cover.

“This better be worth it,” Tim said despairingly as he heaved off the cover and followed his companion into the stinking darkness, leaving behind the screaming and shouting of the battle outside.