text: [Themes: fantasy]
  
  Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war. You seize your opportunity to escape and disappear in the smoky haze. That crazy loon must have set half the forest on fire. Things cannot get much worse at least, right?
  
  A gale pummels you from behind and knocks you down. Coals soar through the air. The force of the wind uproots entire trees, filling the air with splintering missiles of fire and death. Shit just got worse.
  
  "Oh come on," you mutter, "the bitch has to have some limit to her magic."
  
  You stagger onto your feet and proceed to dodge the incredible amount of bullshit and debris flying through the air all the way back to Osprey's ramshackle birdshit hut. Osprey and Jon are sitting on stumps around a bonfire drinking tea, completely ignoring the magic fire engulfing the forest.
  
  Osprey nudges Jon with his elbow. "See, I told ya he'd come back. They always come back."
  
  "Never doubted you for a second Osprey. The boy is young. He'll learn."
  
  You throw up your arms in exasperation. "In case you two didn't notice, we have a situation here."
  
  "You heroes today, always in such a hurry." Osprey bops you on the head with his staff. "Never taking any time to stop and smell the pteguonias." Osprey takes a deep whiff. "Putrid."
  
  "That's your birdshit hut burning up."
  
  Osprey's eyebrows shoot up, nearly off his forehead. "Damnit, Organa, you've gone too far this time. Show yourself! It ends now!"
  
  Organa Mel Fy once again materializes out of thin air. She blasts an ice spike through Osprey's heart without so much as a howdy-do. The cooky old hedge wizard voids his bowels and leaves this world once and for all. So much for getting a new arm.
  
  Jon draws his sword. This battle may rest entirely on his blade now because you certainly do not appear to be in any condition to help. "Heartless harpy," he growls.
  
  Organa Mel Fy shrugs, which causes her bountiful breasts to bounce beautifully. "Well aren't you a luscious lug. The world is a better place without the old fart stinking up half the forest. And I assure you, while I may be tart, I do have a heart. I know I just met you, and this may seem a tad crazy. But I'm ovulating, so would you like to make a baby?"
  
  "Well, I am a sucker for gingers."
  
  "Power, sex, and divinity, we could have it all."
  
  Jon lowers his sword. "That is tempting."
  
  "Jon, what the hell!" You make a fist and drop to your knees in pain. Yep, still broke.
  
  Jon stares at you with puppy dog eyes. "But she's a ginger! I love gingers. Besides, heroes aren't supposed to hit girls let alone kill them. That's villainy right there."
  
  The man makes a strong argument. Are you really willing to begin the long dark descent down the path of debauchery and villainy just to stop one lone psychotic bitch with a magic addiction? Maybe it is not too late for you to get in on the action too. Organa Mel Fy does have a pretty sweet body and has a serious sexual appetite. There are probably some fantastic adventures awaiting the three of you in your potential sexcapades.
  
  > Villain Smillain, you're saving the day.
  "I don't give a damn if she is a woman, I'm kicking her ass."
  
  Jon sighs. "Fine, but you owe me a red-headed whore."
  
  "Dude, Jon, man, you need therapy."
  
  "No, I need a fire-crotch to melt the icy walls of my soul."
  
  Organa Mel Fy claps her hands together. "What a wonderful idea. Ice and fire! And in song form." She claps her hands once more, and a snowstorm blizzards into existence. Ice, fire, and steam clash together while small mutant dwarf elves dance and sing in circles.
  
  A song and storm of ice and fire, while we strum on our lyre.
  
  Hit the bong and throw 'em in the fryer, while we drum by the funeral pyre.
  
  Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,
  
  Magic in the morning.
  
  Watch them suffer hear them scream, while we make love by the bubbling stream.
  
  Botch the murder we die as a team, while we fuck in a collective dream.
  
  Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,
  
  Magic in the morning.
  
  Drink blood red wine at a wedding on the river, hope we get to dine on someone's liver.
  
  The bread is fine honey don't you shiver, hope we bet on the cruelest sinner.
  
  Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,
  
  Magic in the morning.
  
  If you suckle too long on Organa's teat, we hope you find an extra treat.
  
  We may chuckle 'cause she's packing heat, pray we don't die for this beat.
  
  Dum dee dee dum dum dum dum ho, dum dee dee dum dum dum dum wo,
  
  Magic in the morning.
  
  You blink and rub your eyes. "Jon, I think I'm tripping. I inhaled a lot of smoke; there must be some wicked shrooms growing in the forest."
  
  "Either that or the narrator isn't even trying anymore."
  
  A flaming chunk of ice crashes into the back of Jon's skull. The poor bastard never saw it coming. He topples to the ground like a turd. You feel your emotions building up, too surreal to touch. They boil over and burst. You feel yourself nut, but it doesn't matter it's time to get rough.
  
  "Bam! Pow!" you shout.
  
  Organa Mel Fy cocks her head and gawks at you. "Uhm, excuse me?"
  
  "Those are the sound effects about to go off upside your head, bitch."
  
  Bam. Pow.
  
  Your headbutt kick to the jaw combo work perfectly. Organa Mel Fy hits the ground, and the magical maladies plaguing the forest vanish. Tears well in her eyes as you end her miserable existence by stomping on her face.
  
  "Too bad so sad," you say. "By choosing villainy over heroism you brought this on yourself."
  
  With one final stomp, the light in Organa Mel Fy's eyes go out, hopefully for good. You never know with these magic types. They come back like cockroaches or supposedly dead G.R.R.M characters. Just playing homie, we love you.
  
  Jon picks himself off the ground and massages the back of his head. "Eh, I've had worse."
  
  You nod. "Good to hear."
  
  Well congratulations my noble crippled hero. You killed the evil Organa Mel Fy. Now go find Jon a fire-crotch like you owe him.