Taking up the mantle of an adventurer often means one must come to terms with certain truths. One of these truths is that those spellcasters of the adventuring persuasion have a tendency to be… well, rather unstable. Oh, and overly fond of fire or their alternative favored element of destruction.
Another important life lesson for an adventurer is to never underestimate the cheekiness of bards and rogues. It is truly an endless ocean of sass, not to be trifled with. The secondary portion of this particular lesson is that the sass is frequently coupled with a lack of wisdom and forethought.
Our rogue was far more dexterous than he was clever, so when he said: “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” he did not realize what he had done.
The mage’s eyes lit up with unfiltered psychotic glee. “Promise?” I remember he had squeaked brightly.
I, of course, had slapped my forehead.
Sure enough, two weeks later, we had just passed over a ravine when we heard a loud BOOM! directly behind us. We turned to see the blazing ruins of the bridge we had just crossed. The charred pieced began to fall into the river several hundred feet below.
As a result of all the turmoil, I popped a blood vessel, which I fortunately survived along with quite a ridiculous series of events that came after. Now, I am happily retired. I live next to a babbling brook—for therapeutic reasons—in the middle of nowhere, as far from adventurers as I can possibly get. It’s not much, but it’s not on fire, and that’s all right by me.