Messmer’s title of “The Impaler” didn’t come from nothing. His cruelty was well known in the land of shadow, impaling and burning his foe. You had been well acquainted with Messmer for quite some time now and you had suggested S’mores quite a few times. Messmer eventually and begrudgingly caved.

Now you both were sat affront a small fireplace that Messmer had lit with his magic. His marshmallow wasn’t toasted, it was practically incinerated. Must be muscle memory. He looked at you.

“Ist thou enjoying this?”