Fire lives in the blood.
The propensity for rage is not a right given solely to the righteous. It does not take a just heart and a worthy cause to inherit the indignation at the unspeakable actions your enemies may undertake. Neither is it doled out on a whim on the battlefield. There are causes, and then there are the effects.
The band of adventurers invading the once-independent island nation of Nemar, the second such invasion by many of the members of this fledgling corps, have achieved success after success thus far in their campaign across the wilderness. They crawl inexorably towards the largest convergence of civilization this isle has to offer with the hopes of gathering whatever prizes it may possess.
Freeing a group of prisoners, they learned a few details regarding the capture and incarceration of those not willing to bend to the idea of a new Empire. There is also the threat of the remaining prisoners not fortunate enough to be placed in the path of this singular march in defiance of this now well-established regime. These people would not seek out the prison edifices immediately, before any harm could come to those already under lock and key.
Quickly they move about the city, positioning themselves for a knife-thrust into the alleyways leading to the prison walls. Slipping into the city limits they move from shadow to shadow, their concealment augmented by magics and hope that the unwieldy arm of the occupying force would be unable to predict the coming sortie.
Fog covering their approach just as much as it hindered their own effectiveness, this force found itself running towards what could only be the confident voice of the hangman. There was the appearance of the pretense of a trial or a threat or even perhaps the lie of the executions to come serving to better protect the citizenry.
Either way, those under the noose did not appear to be those under lock and key. No, these were the prisoners breathing the fresh air of the island, moving about under the thumb of the oppressor. It was maybe not until this moment that these stalwart adventurers would have the chance to realize that there was no difference inside or out of the stockade. All on this island were prisoner.
The blood ran hot. This time the occupier feeling the sting that demanded retribution among the people that would make the loudest statement. Or maybe just assuage injured ego.
Taking precious few moments, yet another surprise was launched against the Empire. The fog-shrouded plaza erupted into chaos. Within seconds the masses, gathered to witness with clenched jaws the deaths that would only further break their will to rebel, began to flee back to their homes or whatever place they would lie to themselves as still being safe in this city. The barker on the dais reeled from chemical burns to his face and assassins dropped from rooftops and warriors waded through the crowds towards their foes.
It took precious little time to breach the stage and free the rope-encircled people, denying the executioners their prescribed pound of flesh.
With their defense breaking, the Empire fell back to what it could most easily accomplish: wanton destruction. Troopers bearing weapons that flung fire afar took up a commanding position and began to spray towards those that would dare to rise up against the iron will of their convictions.
As the blood runs hot, it too may also be extinguished. This was a day for blood-letting, for the venting of that heat back to the dirt and stone from where it came. And it was finally time for these invading adventurers to feel in return the losses they had been inflicting against those forces now living and working in this city and the surrounding seas.
Fire must be stoked, it must be tended and prodded to gift back any heat to use as a tool. These invaders now had more to think about as they worked the hearths they each held within. Moving back into the shadows once more, they resolved to rest and let the embers smolder.
Simmering down to the white hot heat that could be soon applied in the direction of their will.