I made this because I felt like it. I didn't feel like making it good.
The mountain wept tears of lava from its slopes. The clashing of epic characters had been too much for its granite skin, which rent and came off in flakes, revealing its glowing blood.
The edges of its icy peak were boiling away in that heat, but the highest point was still icy cold. Perhaps it was the cool stares of the two figures who there stood. Maybe it was the cold wind, which blew a tumbleweed-shaped snowflake between them.
The warrior held his blade out behind him, and pointed a finger across the gap. He evaluated the wizard. His thumb came down.
The wizard looked tiredly back. Another day, another hilarious misunderstanding. Run, or talk? He looked down at the lava below. As if talking ever worked.
Rincewind turned and began running through the snow. He knew not to look back - either he would escape, or not. Even if the warrior wasn't pursuing, why should he stop running? He watched the snow in front of him. But something was buried underneath, and he tripped.
Bro turned as well. If the little wizard was so eager to fall down the sta- slope, let him. Bro lazily knocked away the incoming blue plasma, then stared at the cackling figure who had thrown it. A cherub flew up into the storm clouds. Bro again pointed his finger.
Rincewind stared into the robot's plastic face as it picked him up. Though it did not speak, the message was clear: there was no escape from these foes.
Now, the snow has been washed away by the sudden thunderstorm. The peak is dark, but a flash of lightning reveals four figures. Two wizards, two warriors. Two mutes, and two clowns. Two teams, and one final battle.