A Prompt Anthology

Crescent Jackals and the Forgotten Guardian

Relief passes between them as the city begins to appear on the horizon. Battle weary, injured and low on rations untainted by their crossing of planes; all worries are forgotten as they're spurred forward by memories of comfort. A large archway covered in flowering vines marks the city's entrance, an overdue familiar sight. Wooden buildings line cobbled streets, the inner most structures larger and marked by colourful signage. The townsfolk and travellers going about their business give life to the place, one of abundance that has been missing from the group's most recent adventure. Soon the afternoon sun will set, the days gradually getting shorter as winter creeps ever closer, and there is only one place they want to be when that happens. Ignoring the shops with their shiny trinkets and fancy weapons the four adventurers follow the musical lure coming from their base of operations; the Dapper Banshee.

The tavern door squeaks on its hinges, prompting the musicians to go silent. Patrons pause in their drinking and chatter at the sudden interruption, all eyes turning to focus on the heroes. Tension holds the room's tongues and the adventurers slowly move inside, wary of venturing further. From behind the bar a small figure steps out, arms crossed, and an intimidating expression on her face.
"So, you finally decided to grace us with your presence." The gnome jumps up on the nearest table, knocking over an empty tankard with her heavy leather boots. She straightens her matching waistcoat, eyes never leaving the four returning heroes. "Nothing to say?"
"Did something happen?" With grace the gnome moves from table to table until she is able to look the adventurers in the eyes, a glint of mischief in her own.
"You leave for weeks on some quest and couldn't even be bothered to say farewell? You think you're above the others who do follow the most basic of rules? And now you return covered in filth to insult me more! Just look at that trail you've left behind you." A snicker from the back of the tavern is met with shushing from their fellows. The adventurers stare, unsure of what to say to diffuse the situation. For all their heroics, they had never been through something like this. With a grin the gnome holds out her hand towards them but addresses the rest of the tavern. "What do we do to heroes who dare insult Breeli Sturdyheart?"
"Drown them!" the other patrons roar.

There is no escape for them as they're quickly surrounded and carried out to the open yard behind the Dapper Banshee. At its centre is a large, wooden tub filled with clean, cold water. At least it is right up until the heroes are thrown in.
"Remember, you brought this upon yourselves." The gnome signals to the patrons who, with no apprehension, begin holding the heroes under the water. Just as their lungs begin to ache they are let go and allowed to surface. "Ah, better already. Time for the soap." In the bath the heroes realise, between gasping breaths, the fate that awaits them. Though relief passes over them it only lasts a moment as the soap is added to the water and the scrubbing brushes are brought out.

"There, much better. Don't you feel better?"
"Breeli, though we had been looking forward to removing the unpleasant particulars from our travels, was the ruse itself truly a necessity?"
"Of course it was! How else would you learn to, at the very least, tell me where you're going so I won't keep worrying. I've put my faith in you to look after my son and I expect you to keep me informed."
"Muuuum." The half-orc rolls his eyes, not unlovingly, at her overprotective nature. They're all gathered in the party's permanent room at the tavern. Breeli sits on the small chair by the window, happy to be off her feet for a few minutes. Leaning against the window is her son, Alfan. The bed is occupied by the regal looking dwarf, Marnyl, and her two guards, the human Ro and the elf Faelana. From the tavern commons, loud and lively chatter filters in through the floorboards ensuring their conversation will be private.
"Now that you're all home, after some rest perhaps you could help with a local mystery that has developed since you were last here?"

Four days passed before they felt strong enough for a new adventure. Wounds heal, vitality is restored and potions are restocked in preparation. They stand before a large house made of red bricks, unusual for a city outside of the Inimulan Dominion; a reminder of their short invasion two hundred or so years prior. The roof overhangs far at the front of the house, casting a permanent shadow over the peeling paint of the front door. Broken pottery has spilled out across the front garden, long since abandoned to time. The heroes are in awe, seeing the house not as it is but as it must have once been.
"Is place, Alfan?"
"Yes, yes it is. Crescent Jackals, welcome to the home of the heroes who came before us; Valenclair Manor."
"It truly must have been a most impressive sight before it fell to disrepair."
"What's inside?" Alfan shrugged.
"I have no idea but I've always wanted to find out. There have been rumours of course, ghosts and demons and the like, but nothing anyone has actually seen."
"We are first to venture in, yes?"
"That we are, Faelana that we are."