The swarms of rats quickly gathered around Tim’s feet, bowing to the rat king on his shoulders and then melting away into the undergrowth of the forest. Shortly, except for the bite marks on literally every plant, it was as if the rats were never there.

“Damn. You really were right, Philbert.” Tim whistled in admiration. “We actually managed to hurt a hero.”

He twisted his head to get a better look at the unmoving rat king on his shoulders. “Still, your king doesn’t look too lively.”

“My friend, my good friend. He is tired. So tired. He must rest and regain his strength,” Philbert whispered as he squirmed down into Tim’s pocket.

“Right… well, we’d better bugger off before those demons or a pissed-off hero finds us. Philbert, can your friend hide himself once we get close to the city? It really would be a shame to get stopped by the guards for carrying around a massive, terrifying rat around my neck.”

“Later,” the muffled rat responded wearily. He settled and stopped moving in Tim’s pocket, and was quiet.

Tim sighed and reoriented himself to go back to the city. He sighed again, not looking forward to wearing some new holes in his feet. Sometimes it felt like he had been walking to and from Drassington for half his life. Perhaps he would just camp for a few days, or a week even?

Tim jerked, startled as a scream of rage tore out from the Bastille. He looked back at the gory battlefield on which the Bastille crouched; the scream had startled even the possessive carrion birds off their prizes and into the sky. “Fuck, I guess I’ll rest when I’m dead!”

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

Back in the courtyard of the Bastille, the great hero Elena seethed as jittery guards orbited her. The few guards that hadn’t died to the demons or run away were trying to calm her down. Wary of any accidents caused by her pure, undiluted rage, they had already stealthily taken away her longsword and had sent a runner to grab her favorite snacks. And plenty of alcohol. One discreetly asked where Clarkson’s … leaf collection was.

“Easy, easy, Elena,” Clarkson said in a calming voice usually reserved for berserk animals. “Calm down, and we can figure out what to do. We just want to help.”

Elena clenched and unclenched her remaining fist, fuming. “That fucking piece of shit. Clarkson, I swear I will find that son of a bitch that let that rat bastard out and tear him limb from limb!” She slashed at the air so viciously she knocked herself off balance, unused to her missing arm. “Fuck!”

“Yes, of course my lady, but first you need to calm down,” Clarkson soothed, oblivious to what that may have sounded like. “Look, Wilton found some nice snacks the chefs had kept just for you!” He gestured for a younger and very nervous-looking soldier holding a tray of sweet-smelling snacks to come closer. “All sorts of pastries, and just how you like them!” It was fortunate Elena was too enraged to realize such a tone may have been condescending, although that may have been merely due to the fact Clarkson was as omnipresent in her life as the color beige.

Elena sniffed, the delicious smell of the fruity pastries calming her down slightly. “Sorry Clarkson, but we’ve got some work to do.”

The ageing man’s smile immediately vanished. “Of course. Just say the word. All the lads still here are good ones, not like those bastards who cut and ran.” Behind him, almost as if to prove his words, the remainder of the Bastille’s garrison gathered one-by-one, bloodied and nigh shell-shocked from the battle, but all bearing arms and holding full rucksacks.

Somewhat comforted, Elena gave him a small smile, one that quickly contorted to an angry frown at their few numbers. “With the escape of the rat, this Bastille has no point. As of now, with the authority I have as a hero, this guard unit is dissolved. I will find what crazy bastard did this.”

She looked around at the disheveled yet determined soldiers. There were no more than a dozen, but at least they had stayed. “I plan to go to the capital and investigate. I can’t guarantee what results I will find, and I will not order any of you to come with me. All I can guarantee is what little pay I can afford and a chance to stop that rat bastard before it’s too late.” With that declaration still hanging in the air, the woman known as the great hero Elena, summoned from Earth and one of the legendary noble heroes who killed the demon king, left for the stables and mounted her horse, the pain from her dangling stump of a shield arm temporarily forgotten.

Behind her, a dozen armored soldiers checked their gear for a final time and mounted their horses quietly as they followed her out of the Bastille.

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

Many days later, Tim finally reached the city of Drassington without much incident. Sure, there were some spots of trouble, with a handful of encounters with would-be bandits, but his new “friend” sorted things out quickly. Yup, wearing a horrifying demon-rat-thing on his shoulders like a scarf really did wonders for his personal safety. Still, seeing people with malice in their grins being covered with a thick lair of swarming, screeching rats removing their flesh never really got any better.

Well, it was either them or me. I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone being left unscathed by bandits, and even if they didn’t kill me, being left with nothing on a road as long as this would be almost a death sentence, Tim consoled himself as he watched the line to get into the city shrink and bring himself closer to the gates.

Almost as if it were out of habit, he shrugged his shoulders. He was so used to the almost-familiar weight of the rat king on them that things just felt wrong without it.

From the inside of his shirt pocket, a small mass moved around to get comfortable. “Tim. Tim, if you keep fidgeting, someone might find it suspicious.”

The half-elf in question fought back the smirk that naturally came to his lips. “Yeah. I have a talking rat in my pocket and there are multiple rats following me in the grass. I’m definitely not suspicious.” He shuddered, remembering how the ever-swirling body of the rat king had split itself apart into smaller rats to hide in the grass. That thing always found some way to freak him out.

Before his ratty friend could retort, the line finally spit him out in front of the guards at the gate. “Name and reason for coming to Drassington,” The bored guard said, glancing up at Tim briefly before rolling a fistful handmade dice on the ground. The other guards leaned over to see the score.

Tim paused for a second, then straightened the irritation out of his face. “My name is Tim, and I’m coming back from a… business trip.”

The guard rolled his eyes, still looking at the dice. “Right… what business would that be?”

Several possible answers flashed through his mind in a heartbeat, most of them involving rat puns, but Tim quickly restrained himself. “Well, I’m a scholar of the library in the city, and I was just looking for some primary sources for my research.” He consoled himself by reminding that wasn’t exactly a lie. A creature like the rat king had probably lived quite a long time, and if he could ever have a decent conversation with it, he could probably answer more than a few questions historians had been grappling with for centuries.

The guard stared at Tim for a second, and with a roll of his eyes waved Tim through the gates with the usual “Now don’t you go causing trouble in the town.”

Tim grinned and saluted poorly as he left the gate. Behind him he heard the guard mutter, “Nerd.” Tim frowned, but let it go. After he had made a decent amount of distance between himself and any guards, he stealthily tapped his pocket. “Hey Philbert, I just realized something.”

A paw tapped back on his shirt as a signal to continue.

“My landlord wouldn’t have a problem with me bringing a large collection of man-eating rats to live in my room, would he?”