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The stench of smoke singed his nostrils. The burning homestead before him was already too far gone to save; roof tiles caving in one after another, each collapse bringing with it a greater chorus of screams from within. The molten skin of the Mephits burned brightly against the pitch-black night sky, every steady beat of their wings fueling another plume of smoke from the rafters. If Max hadn’t already harbored a deep hatred for monstrosities of the Elemental Plane of Fire, he was certain he would now. The pure glee glowing in each of their white sockets was nothing short of evil.
From behind him, Bro’s dwarven battle cry echoed, and Max watched as he charged toward the creatures. Ruby, having sprinted ahead, was already leaping from the smoldering balcony, cradling a young elven child. Mr. Wizard was likely somewhere in the fray too, no doubt frantically digging through his wares and pouches for anything of use.
Yet Max froze.
Gone was the battle spirit he had carried when the party first caught wind of the incident back at camp; the lionhearted fury that had driven them to abandon their supplies and charge toward the rising smoke and distant screams threading through the trees. Instead, as he gazed upon the imps, he saw only their foul grins silhouetted against the colored stripes of his family’s tent.
The Blunder family had finally gotten their big break. Their traveling circus, born of humble beginnings in Mirabar, had been invited by a high Duke of Waterdeep to entertain a gathering of foreign merchants during the proposal of a new trade deal. They had finished setting up on the outskirts of Luskan, along the Southbound Road. The plan was simple: rest for a night or two, put on a few evening shows, and earn extra coin from the city’s wealthy.
The first night alone had earned them thirteen gold and three silver- enough to cover travel, lodging, and food for the entire journey. Everything they made in Waterdeep would be pure profit. The thought had filled every performer with giddy joy.
And then they watched it all drain away as flaming imps tore through the red and white patterning of their circus canopies.
“MEPHITS! RUN!”
“HOW ARE THEY HERE? ALL THE GUILD GUARDS WERE STATIONED TO THE NORTH! THEY CAN’T HELP US!”
He had felt so small, standing in the tied-back doorway of their second tent, staring out at the destruction. Posters around town had claimed the Church of Tempus had chased the evil sorcerer and his minions north toward Raven Rock and the Rheged Glacier. What were they doing this far south?
Flaming talons and bat-like wings shredded canvas as easily as air, snapping supports and igniting everything within reach. Max had watched. Watched as his parents and extended family burst from within as the tent caved inward, watched as the Mephits turned toward the third tent and began to ravage that as well. Watched as, from beneath the wreckage, his only brother, Major, clawed his way free with scalded hands.
The Mephits had seen him too.
They noticed the large Goliath form wrenching itself into the open and answered with an ear-grating, screeching laugh. One lunged toward Major, claws raised.
Twenty feet.
Could Max make it?
He could. He knew he could. He started to run.
Except he didn’t.
His legs gave out as terror flooded his body, and he collapsed to his knees just as the imp landed beside his brother. It grabbed Major by his butchered face, fingers tangled in smoking blue hair. Max was too late. Too cowardly. All he could do was watch as searing breath plumed into Major’s face, a popping cackle spitting embers across his skin.
I have to do something.
But what? From here? He was only a circus performer. His early bardic lessons had taught him nothing of how to stop this, nothing of how to face such danger.
Please. Anyone. I can’t lose him. I can’t. Help him. Help me.
The Mephit raised its other hand, flame and heat coalescing into an intangible shape. Max dropped his head into his tightly clenched hands, wide eyes still locked on his brother’s weakening form in the dirt.
PLEASE. ANYONE. HELP ME.
You are not my usual type, a voice replied, amused and distant, but if you seek such aid, I could grant you my patronage.
The Mephit lashed forward, molten claws tearing toward Major’s neck-
A blinding flash.
Golden light streaked down from the Astral Plane, striking the creature mid-lunge and bathing it in radiant brilliance. It seized, its form engulfed in blazing, holy fire. Its hands fell limp. It did not scream. It simply crumpled, glittering, to the ground.
Max didn’t dare breathe. Couldn’t move.
Major scrambled free, kicking the corpse away and clutching his burned arms.
Your wit, mortal. I like it. Glittergold wishes to see what else you might achieve on this plane.
Adventurers, likely roused from their lodgings, had begun a counterassault. The remaining Mephits retreated eastward. A woman in long robes and a thick golden belt reached Major’s side, hands raised as she muttered a healing prayer.
Max could only watch as he staggered forward toward his brother, and toward the smoldering remains of his family’s tents and legacy.
Now he stood once more before a burning building, watching Mephits launch another assault on the innocent. His new allies fought with steel and spell, dragging civilians to safety while hurling magic and projectiles at the fiends.
He could help this time.
The coin mattered; but more than that, he could stop the pain. The screaming. The burning.
His eyes locked onto a nearby Mephit, hovering ten feet above the ground as it searched for its next victim. He raised his hands, clenched them tight, and closed his eyes. Steeling his resolve, he called out to that familiar voice. To the power that had saved him more than once now.
“Grant me but a fraction of thy wit, sire. It is all one could need.”
Radiance exploded across the battlefield as a Guiding Bolt tore through the air and struck true. The creature’s scream rang like mystic bells in Max’s ears - a sound of battle, of triumph.
He didn’t wait to see it fall. Already he was moving, trusting Glittergold’s aim as he prepared his next strike. A tight chuckle escaped him, a small smirk curling at his lips.
He wasn’t that helpless circus boy anymore.