"Curses!" yells Shammorax of Dufanal, kicking the wooden wheel of the wagon.
Heavy rain pours down from a sheet of clouds high in the sky. Aside from providing crops and trees with much needed water, it also turns the road into a stream of mud.
"You know, boss," says his servant, "there are places where the roads are made of brick and don't turn into mud when the water falls from the sky."
"As if that is any use here and now," replies the merchant. The downpour is quite unexpected. There had been only a few clouds this morning, and Shammorax had seen a moon rise. It had taken him two days to travel from his home city of Dufanal to Ratatos, with his inventory of slaves and spices. The interior of the wagon had some goods covered in leather to protect it from heavy rains like this, as well as a box containing a few gold coins.
Now, the wheels of the wagon are stuck in the mud, and the beasts are unable to pull the wagon. Even the greatest strength can be defeated by slipperiness, as a saying in Ratatos goes. This heavy rainstorm is a perfect example of that saying.
"Okay" says Shammorax. "We got to get this wagon going before nightfall." He places his hand on the hilt of his bronze short sword. "We can put wooden planks under the wheels, give it enough solid surface."
"Sir, we can cut those roadside trees down," says one of the servants. "It's not as if the local rulers will find out who cut them down."
"Good idea," replies the merchant, wiping some of the wetness from his leather jerkin.
I hope they don't catch us; we don't need those bastards to take more of our coins than they already have.
Shammorax wishes he was home with his mate and the offspring hatched from the eggs he made inside his mate. He looks up, his face hammered by the rainsdrops, and he sees a glow in the sky.
Maybe this horrid rain will stop soon.
But it does not stop.
Instead of raining water, it rains fire.
