“Ahhh, nothing like some relaxation before the action,” Tim sighed as he stretched out on the rough wooden seat of his wagon. The splintered and jagged bits dug into his spine, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t too bad compared to the waiting game he had been through. And, speaking of the end of the waiting game, I do believe that I see everyone’s favorite place coming into view. Tim smirked with glee that he hadn’t needed to make any of the seemingly endless number of trips to and from the Bastille to get everything into place. That was a job reserved for lackeys, and this was his second and hopefully last trip to this shithole. It was quite pleasing to see how far he’d come.

A nudge to his side broke up Tim’s wandering thoughts, bringing his attention to the gradually approaching gates of the Bastille, the bored watchmen playing cards in the shadows of the gates, and the dwarf with thick, dark circles sat deep around his eyes walking next to him.

“Ey’ boss, looks like that gas stuff you made is still in one piece. No leaks as far as I can tell, though you might wanna check for yourself.” Bert rumbled in a tired baritone of a voice, rolling his shoulders with audible popping and cracking noises.

Tim glanced backwards to the straggled caravan following his cart. Well, I don’t see anyone missing or obviously dying, so it’s probably fine. He nodded. “Get your boys to unload the canisters in the usual place. They know the drill by now, I assume.”

“Yeah, I got ya’ boss,” Bert chuckled as he began to move to the other carts, “we drop or break them, and that stuff will probably kill us before you do.”

Tim watched the dwarf go out of the corner of his eye, and as the rough bellowing of orders ensued, turned his attention to the watchman at the gates. Bert must have bribed them decently enough, Tim mused. They hadn’t even glanced at the procession that had ended up nearly on their doorstep, instead still being focused with surprising commitment towards the hands currently being dealt. A smile once more slithered onto Tim’s face and he glanced at the sun filling the sky above him. I do wonder how badly those fellas at the gate are going to shit their pants later today. After all, things should be starting on the demon’s side any minute now…

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

For what was most definitely not the first time in the past few weeks, the sound of thundering hooves, chain mail, and muffled curses filled the streets of Drassington. By now, casual bystanders hardly even paid attention to the sight of the great hero Elena charging through the streets on horseback as her soldiers followed in desperate pursuit. It was beginning to become comical. For weeks, she had been doing this, and for weeks there had been no results other than tired horses and the visible rage on the cleric hero’s face growing. Only, when one of such bystanders observed the group out of the corner of his eyes, an immediate double take followed as the addition of a guard squad and a deafeningly loud captain had joined up with them as well.

“Come on lads! Let’s get to the walls and let those lizard bastards have it!” Vort yelled out, equally annoyed and excited to hear the utter silence from his guard squad and the adrenaline-filled whooping and hollering coming from Elena’s soldiers. A glance to his right sent his annoyance to even greater heights as the hero herself ignored him and simply stared ahead with nearly unshakable focus. Well, ya’ can’t win them all, Vort snipped (safely inside of his head). No way was he going to say anything negative to the hero. He still valued his well-being.

A shout from a soldier ahead snapped back Vort’s attention to the matter at hand, and he sawed at the reins of his horse as the party reached the bottom of the walls. “Right up on the walls, ma’am, we saw the bastards from the tr-“ Vort sputtered as he finally noticed Elena shooting past him, riding her horse up the steps on the wall at full gallop, her soldiers following (albeit at slower speeds) with whoops of joy tinged with hints of terror. His eyes widened. Fucking crazy-ass hero. Going to have to put down some lame horses.

“Boys, dismount.” Vort shouted to his motionless guards, “half of you go and reinforce the gatehouse. Bar it with wood, but make sure you can open it quickly if the hero decides to pursue. The rest, up with me on the walls. String your bows. We’re gonna cook those fucking grey lizards for lunch.”

Limp and jerky salutes followed as the two batches of guards moved to fulfil his orders. Vort cringed internally, shamed at their lack of discipline. “Move damn it, move! Get your asses going! I fucking swear when this is over, I’ll beat your training back into your bones so hard that your grandchildren will feel it! That is, if you can still have grandchildren afterwards!” Vort shook his head as he started up the first set of steps leading up to the walls. He really had let them get lazy, hadn’t he.

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

Perched on top of the walls, Elena grabbed the spyglass Clarkson was offering her. “Come on, come on, where are you bastards…” She muttered as she scanned the open fields around the city and the tree line those same fields gradually merged into. Seconds passed into minutes, and as the huffing and puffing sounds of that fatass captain closed in on her location, her frown deepened.

“Clarkson, didn’t you say that those guards saw a group of demons in the trees? Where the hell are they?”

An apologetic cough drifted into her ears as her trusted lieutenant stepped forward. “I can’t imagine those lads in the guard would have lied. Maybe those demons they saw just went deeper into the forest? We did come here as fast as we were able to, but it still took a few minutes.”

Elena rolled her eyes and grumbled as the man pulled out a second spyglass, stepping up on the edge of the ramparts with her. “I swear, it’s nothing but trees and rocks, with a few rocks and trees mixed in. Maybe a field or two. But. No. Fucking. Demons.”

Clarkson sighed. “Remember, ma’am, your exercises. Breath in, breath out. Great things come to the hero that waits.”

Metal clinked on leather as Elena’s hands curled up into a fist with the strength to crush rock into powder. “It’s all right, ma’am, in and then out.” Clarkson soothed. A silence followed, that in which neither Elena’s soldiers, nor the guards who had caught up dared to speak. Then, an irritated breath was let out, followed by several quieter breaths of relief being let out from the surroundings.

“Wait. Just what is that…” Clarkson muttered as he turned his attention back to his spyglass. “A flash of grey and… lady Elena! It’s the one you fought earlier, at the Bastille!”

Elena’s eyes widened as her head swiveled in the direction of Clarkson’s pointed finger. There did seem to be something there. The spyglass was brough to her eye, and a savage grin split her face in two. “Found you…” She whispered, throwing her weight forward and launching herself off the ramparts to the fields below, hardly even registering the frantic shouts of Clarkson snapping out orders to “send word to Kevin and follow her, for fucks sake, but take the fucking stairs!”

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

The faint sound of thunder coming from the distant town filled the air, all the thugs and the few guards of the Bastille briefly pausing in their work (or lack thereof) to look questioningly down the road.

“Oi Bert, that’s the signal!” Tim shouted over the natural din caused by the thugs moving wooden barrels and tin canisters to and fro according to his specifications.

Bert nodded silently, his attention mainly focused on double-checking the main and backup fuses leading out of the sewer entrance and into the forest. “Almost done here, boss. These should be good to go, and with the wooden boards we set up in the sewers, water shouldn’t be an issue. I checked a test fuse in there myself. It still burns well enough.”

“Perfect. You lot, make sure the phosphorus barrels are in their positions. Double-check them for leaks, and if those guards stole any of the barrels, gut em’ fast. We don’t have time to deal with them all proper-like.”

At Tim’s orders, the interior of the Bastille became as busy as an anthill as Blinders members rushed to complete their respective tasks, dodging messenger rats that scurried underfoot and trying not to attract the attention of the mad half-elf with a suspiciously large rat resting around his shoulders like a scarf.

“Bert, I’m heading out first. Once your boys are done, sneak out before our allies arrive if you lot want to see tomorrow. Once you get to the forest, we can start handing out the sarin canisters, and then we just have to wait for the heroes to arrive.”

“Will do, boss.” The dwarf grunted as he surveyed the ominous barrels, stacked into pyramids and against weaker, cracked spots in the walls. He wasn’t sure if this could bring the stone fortress down, but hell, he wasn’t about to argue that point with his maniac of a boss.

“Come on lads, we’re almost done. Just gotta keep going, and we’ll be back in Drassington before ya know it, and we might even be able to brag about killing a hero. I can’t think of any other thugs or bastards like you guys who might have the chance.”

Soon after, the final checks were completed. Bert dusted off his hands, turning his back to the dark hallways and mildly disgusting dungeons hidden inside the Bastille.

Hidden in the tree line, much like how he was in his first visit to the Bastille, Tim settled into a comfortable position and waited for the battle to arrive, stifling giggles each time he thought of how he had made the place one hell of a powder keg.

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

Mavier grinned wickedly as he watched the detestable hero launch herself from the ramparts of the city with incredible speed. A thunderous boom of sound rang out as she reached the halfway point to the ground and became too fast for all but Mavier himself to see. His eyebrow raised an inch. “Well, Santet, seems like even those human heroes can learn. The bitch buffed herself this time, on the way down.”

Another thunderous boom roared out from the direction of the city as the cleric hero hit the ground with the force of a small meteor, managing to completely drown out the screams of the people waiting outside of the gates. A brilliantly white light swiftly followed, and Mavier’s eyebrow raised once more as the sight of the raging hero, clad in a light so bright it leeched color from her very surroundings, began to get closer and closer to his position.

“My lord! We’ll be leaving as instructed, please take care!” Santet shouted, bowing to him and taking off with his men. Mavier nodded in approval. She knew what to do. Now all he had to do was to hold his ground until one hero became two. Should be easy enough. Behind him, Santet and his men disappeared into the foliage, and Mavier unsheathed his scimitar. A swipe of his free hand gently coated the surface of the weapon with a crackling and snapping layer of purple-tinted tinted lightning. A few murmured words later, and the ground began to shudder and groan under the pressure of magic, the demon’s very skin twisting with layers of hissing fire. The air let out a shrill screech as blurs and distortions seemed to randomly stretch into existence. The shaking of the ground grew frenzied, and Mavier tensed as his opponent finally arrived, accompanied with the sounds of an angelic choir, and a savage smile filling her face.

Two war cries, one a distinguished and noble shout, the other a high-pitched cry filled with the joy of battle pierced the air as the battle began.