The Tivalti Estate stood in central Myrkenwood, a large, gothic-styled building. A place that, at one time, been populated by a group of unsavory characters who had done unsavory things. On this particular evening, the Tivalti Estate stands, without a soul to speak of in its walls, covered in flames.
There had been only three of them - the Scotsman at the front gate, singing and banging loudly, causing a racket. The other two weren't even noted, the soldier going around the back door and the dark-clothed doctor quickly scaling the fence...
The once great foyer, furnished and adorned with so many expensive paintings and colorful furniture was being eaten, fabrics curling and blackening under the intense eat of the all-consuming flame. Those depicted in the paintings watched on with their statue-like, calm expression as their own materials were consumed, discoloring and finally peeling away to join the rest of the inferno.
The doctor had been quick; poison-coated daggers shot out and dropped one guard, two, four - all of which slumped over into the estate's lush grass, quite blissfully asleep...
Glasses shattered in the dining room, the table now a completed inferno. The stored goods in the cabinets had all long since been over cooked, and the cabinets themselves were falling away from the thinning walls.
The Scotsman laid out his trap in the diversion, three guards taken in surprise by the following explosion. The others left their posts, rushing to see what had happened. The soldier slipped in the back gate, unguarded, and into the Estate...
The stairway to the upper floor collapsed, bringing down the upper hallway with it. A long crashing noise, as half one floor fell down into the next, smashing the already eaten woods of the floors, walls, and furniture alike.
Inside, the soldier found a guard lying in wait - the wrist-mounted dart shooter was quick to slip out around the corner, the dart killing the guard before he even hit the ground. There was another lying in wait after watching his partner go down, waiting to bring the sword to the soldier's neck...but then there was the doc, having slipped into the window, and yet another man dropped asleep...
A window was broken. But it didn't matter; the frame was eaten away, the entire wall beginning to crumble away in the glow. It was spilling out on the grass, now, liable to burn down all of Myrkenwood if it weren't for the complete box the cobblestone road provided around the estate.
The soldier moved down below, the doctor staying to finish clearing out the ground floor. Outside, the Scotsman fended off three of the guards - taking them out with the doc's poison and his own smoke bomb. He turned back to the estate, nose bloodied from one of the attacks to watch a window explode outwards...
The holes in the floor were unrecognizable now, as the boards gave away in fiery splinters and cascaded down to the cellar, the heavier beams smashing through entire shelves of wine and ciders, adding more fuel to the fuel-devoid basement.
There had been one who surprised the doc, flinging shards of ice at the man. He had rolled, letting the magically-created spikes slam deeply into the wood he had just occupied. Into a nearby room bolted the doctor, leaping through the window...
The entire second floor gave in now, windows all shattering in tandem as one level rained onto the next. The remaining wood groaned, and the fire roared. Billowing smoke blocked the moon and stars alike around the estate, lawn set ablaze as well as building proper.
In the cellar, the soldier had found a surprise of his own, one of the bandits lying in wait. Fire, in many shapes and designs was hurled and thrust at the soldier - only his wits kept him alive, all the while knowing that their target was down there, in one of those cells...
Some of the intact bottles exploded under the heat, darkened glass flying aimlessly around the collapsed room. Sections of the ground floor were giving away now, letting one predict its entire consumption into itself.
The doctor had cut the man with the sleeping venom, but to no avail. He kept walking, smiling, without effect. But then there was the Scotsman, a new target, and the doc had disappeared into the shadows anyway...a raise of its hand, and the air around the Scotsman exploded in a deadly orb of ice, falling harmlessly to the ground due to the Scotsman’s quick thinking. More bombs were thrown of varying design...
Another crash, and now the cellar was full of burning wood and fabrics, brimming with inferno that was apt to spill out all over the already burning estate.
The smoke bomb didn't even phase the man; the smoke failed to irritate his eyes, or blind his course. But the fire bomb had been a different story. The man's hand had raised once more, ready to turn the Scotsman into some new form of art before the fire exploded all over him, and he followed suit...
The fire crept up to the pile of bodies stacked on the grass. There were a good number of them, initially put to sleep with an extracted venom, but now all were marked with another wound; dried blood covered each individual's throat, as none had been left naturally closed.
The soldier's own bandit was the other's opposite; he engulfed his whole body in flames, charging at the soldier with nothing less than the intent to kill. He was smart, the soldier, flipping the fire entity over him...the flesh on his hands cooked and bubbled in the action, but he did not cry out...
The blood was erased, sucked away by something wholly more natural than vampires. The flames licked at the bodies, testing, tasting them before consuming them altogether like the rest of the estate.
The Scotsman had tried water, but to no avail. The doc had an idea to use the ice from the other bandit; the soldier's life was spared, immobilized before the hellish might of the elemental, readying to cook the soldier into a fine powder...but there was the Scotsman, hurling the ice. It turned away, starting after the Scotsman...
The black fence surrounding the estate was already colored fire's favorite, and lacked any fuel suitable to keep the blaze going. The grass burned away quickly, the blaze retreating back into the hellhole. It burned, for hours and hours.
The doc hauled down the ice orb that the bandit tried to kill the Scotsman with, and together they tossed it at the immolated bandit. There was a hiss, a spray, and the elemental fell into pieces and quickly fizzed away into nothingness...
Much through the night, in fact, leaving the blackened and charred remains of the estate and the bodies to greet the morning with a smoldering heat and a slowly dissipating funnel of smoke, rising endlessly to the sky.
The healer was extracted, and they fled the building. To the place of healing, the prisoner and doc alike rode to. The Scotsman stayed behind, seeing that the building and its faculty would not be around to see another day. The soldier just drifted away...
Birds would chirp nearby in the wake of the cooling disaster, nonchalant about the building's disappearance.
Life went on.