The outline Drassington shone with a rugged, stony beauty against the sweeping faded green of the forest. A welcome respite following Tim’s hasty retreat from his greatest victory yet. But still, there was more work to be taken care of.

“I think the quote was… something around the lines of ‘no rest for the wicked’?”

Tim hummed in thought over the pointless question, his hands fiddling the ragged cufflinks of his scholar’s robes.

“It sounds about right. It was maybe Tansmith that always said that phrase? Or was it Iver?”

“Enough, Tim. It matters not. We need to focus on the now.” Mavier’s tired voice interrupted Tim's anxious ramblings. “If we wait for too long, the cleric may end up finding us even after our retreat. My people still have a temporary camp set up in a cave nearby, shall we rest there and plan our next move?”

Tim glanced at Mavier at the corner of his eyes. “That’s not a bad idea, but I’ve got something you might like a bit more.” Under Mavier’s questioning gaze, Tim leaned over to pick up a dry stick, a brittle piece that must have snapped off in the wind or some other natural event.

“This forest. It’s a bit dry, isn’t it?”

Mavier nodded. “Indeed. What are you implying?”

“Well, since I doubt Elena beat us back to Drassington, and I have a feeling that she didn’t take into consideration the rather chilly Fall breeze before she started chasing you, how about we be good, upstanding citizens and help her warm up?”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Mavier grinned, snapping his fingers to reveal a playful spark of flame galivanting across his palm, “It would be our moral obligation as citizens of this good world to make sure our beloved hero doesn’t catch a cold.”

“Perfect.” Tim got up and beckoned the group to follow, a gleeful smirk on his face. “Try and spread that warm, toasty flame all over this side of the treeline. And, I wouldn’t worry about going back to that temporary camp for now. After all, we are allies returning home after a victory. I have some little friends who can make the guard turn a blind eye, so you can enjoy my hospitality in the city, if you want.”

Mavier laughed, venom dripping from his voice as he lazily tossed a fistful of fire towards the nearest tree. “My friend, you really were right in convincing me to retreat earlier. I can almost feel my heart singing in glee. My people and I shall gladly partake in your hospitality.”

The demon hero turned from his work, following the motley crew of demons and a dwarf that trailed after Tim towards the city, all away from the burnt-orange background of a flaming forest.

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

Clarkson removed the cloth he had been keeping over his mouth. “Come ‘on lads! I know it’s been a hell of a day, but we can fucking beat a forest fire to the city! Just a bit longer!” he hoarsely screamed, ignoring the specks of blood flying out of his battered throat as he yanked the reins of his horse to evade yet another blazing log collapsing onto the broken road.

“Shit! Delmon, move closer, tell the boys behind you to stick close too, the visibility is getting worse by the second!”

Behind him, the soldier named Delmon nodded, relaying the orders to the men beside him and forcing his horse forwards with a kick of his spurs. Fucking hell. First a hero gets axed, then Lady Elena starts blaming herself for it and goes into shock or something fucking stupid like that, and now the forest decides it’s ‘I hate Clarkson week’ and lights itself on fire.

Clarkson bitterly ground his teeth as his spurs dug bloody gashes into the flanks of his horse. What a hell of a day for sure.

“Loth, any word from the scouts? Any trail would be better than this crap road.”

“No si-“ The rest of the scout’s sentence was cut off as a fiery tree next to him simply exploded into a hail of boiling sap and wood shrapnel, catching his horse and the man square in the side, reducing them both to a series of incoherent screams colored with the smell of sickly sweet sap and burning flesh.

“Shit!” Clarkson grabbed at the horse with his free hand, but to no avail as the maddened animal bolted off the path and into the forest. The second since the fire started. Clarkson bitterly shook his head and looked towards the horse galloping towards his right, the reins held securely in his hand. And he had dropped his cloth. Clarkson coughed.

“Elena, we really need you now, if you could just look up and drum out some magic!” Clarkson pleaded with the unresponsive hero, swearing frantically when there was yet again no response. What a fucking waste of funding. They pose and flaunt their power all day, but in the end when the chips are down, these fucking heroes don’t do jack. I sure as hell bet that Kevin would still be alive if he didn't insist on running off every time without some steady lads to back him up, and I sure as hell bet that if I hadn’t dragged Elena on this horse to start with, she would’ve died to the fire already.

Fucking heroes.

He shook his head in irritation. Still, someone had to be the one to keep a hero grounded with common sense. Someone had to try to direct them. He just hoped that the job wouldn’t kill him first.

“Almost there lads! It won’t even be five minutes before we see those sweet walls, just keep near me and we’ll make it!”

Several hoarse war cries sounded out in agreement, but Clarkson still hid a frown.

He didn’t bother to mention that he had said the same thing just five minutes earlier. They knew.