Smalltown Heroes

The sun is cresting over the horizon to signal the dawn as a group of battered people emerge from the cellar of Tresandor Manor. The light cuts through the skeletal remains of the old manor house and cascades down the hill onto the waking town of Phandalin below. The group trudges down the hill in relative silence, Nipper casually humming some macabre melody, it's notes a somber companion. Phandalin awakens around as you walk into the town. Window shutters are pushed open and curtains drawn back. Villagers gasp as they see the beaten band of warriors pass through the streets; clothes spattered with blood, knuckles bruised, skin cut, and eyes weary. Despite the bedraggled and exhausted experience of the company there is an air of confidence in their walk. The villagers begins to whisper to one another and a few step out onto the street to look up at Tresandor Manor, no doubt looking for the rampaging horde of Redbrands in pursuit - no one comes. The whispering grows into a dull murmur, now discernible at times as the group passes.
"Is that the company from the Stonehill?"
"...they went into Tresandor last night-"
"...they fought those brutes on the street the day before..."
"...I thought they died-"
"...what happ'n'd to Glasstaff?"
Finally, Linene Graywind, the master of Lionshield Costers, stepped out into the path and planted her hands on her hips. She was clearly trying to display an image of confidence but the bloodied appearance of the group was shaking her resolve.
"You there," she said defiantly. "What happened in there? Where are the Redbrands?" The group takes a moment to look at one another. Nipper of Heels shrugs to Meraki who nods ponderously, eyes staring off into the distance at nothing. Aethulian snorts smugly although the exhaustion is clear on his chiseled features. Mazekk glares at the Half-Elf retort and shifts uncomfortably under the gaze of the onlookers. After an awkward and prolonged silence, Yarrik looks to his peers expectantly and then sighs.
"They're...uhhh...all dead," he says casually.
A sudden deafening cheer erupts from the crowd of villagers and they erupt into a jubilant celebration. The villagers swarm to the group, hands outstretched in reverence as if to bask in their very aura while others reach out to touch the group's garments as if they have become beatified through touch along. Women weep tears of joy, children dance small jigs and clap wildly, while the men nod, some even adding their own houses war cries to the celebration. The crowd surges forward and the victors find themselves being herded deeper into the town towards the Stonehill Inn and Town Square. Others down the road poke their heads out in confusion at the sudden cacophony of noise and call down to the crowd in curiosity.
"What's going on?" called a shrewd woman from the second floor of a building.
"They've vanquished the Redbrands! A massive pitched battle there was!"
"Hundreds dead!"
"Glasstaff's head is on a pike"
"The city is saved!"
The tales begin to grow, a self-embellishing monster which grows a new fantastical tentacle every step taken deeper into the city.

The crowd surges into town square, now easily thrice in size. Sildar is standing shirtless on the steps to the Stonehill in, his sword belted at his hip and frowning skeptically. When he sees the group centered in the crowd a devilish grin cracks through his face.
"My....friends!" he calls out, arms outstretched. He forces his way through the crowd and inspects each member of the company, occasionally reaching out to touch wounds or inspect blood splatters.
"I missed a grand battle then did I?" he says. Mazekk nods.
"It was pretty good. Held one of them on the point of my ax. The warlock blew him up," Mazekk chuckled and tapped a thick fingers on the wicked spike at the end of the haft of his great ax.
"By the stars!" Sildar yelled, eyes wild and the grin seemed as if would split his face in two.
"Lords and Ladies, I beseech you - come here and listen!" a voice bellows. The crowd, which has swollen in size considerably, turns to listen and a series of hushes silence them as they all look to the source of the voice. A man in bright purple clothing is standing on the railing. His clothes were a multitude of shades of purples and golds. A short cloak was pinned to his shoulders and a large puffy hat was perched on his head. There was a lute slung over his back. He was handsome enough, a close cropped beard with a pointed mustache and two bright and wild eyes.
"Today...today you all find yourselves equals. For you are all equally blessed. I have the pride....nay...the privilege...nay...the pleasure of introducing you a humble company of heroes." he says with a wide sweep of his arms. The crowd parts around the motley crew like a school of quippers and they look in nervous anticipation.
"Who is this guy?" Meraki mutters.
"I don't like him," grunts Mazekk. Nipper just glares.
"These champions, can trace their lineage back to the Gods themselves but yet they don't deign to flaunt their divine power and instead humble themselves to the likes of us common folk, with no demand for recompense other than the smiles on your faces and a warm fire in your hearths," the bard said, he crouched down, perched like a cat on the railing and looked into the eyes of the villagers closest to him.
"I first met them in the Silver Marches a top of hill. It was a dark and stormy day - the sky had ravaged the land for weeks on end with no respite in sight. But then...atop the hill - there was...a light," the bard said and he dropped his voice down to a whisper while still projecting across the square. He looked up at the sky almost wistfully, a Yarrik was sure he could almost see tears in the man's eyes. "There they were. Standing atop a hill and asking forgiveness for the lives they had just taken. For only a day before they had fought the great Orc horde of Urbaz-Zul and challenged the Orc champions to a trial by combat. They bested the brutish champions and when the treacherous creatures turned on them they turned their blades against the horde and routed them with a righteous fury." he called out, voice rising to a trembling roar. "Despite the treachery of these beasts, they had the sanctity and grace to beg the Gods for forgiveness for the blood they had split."
Yarrik rubbed his arm nervously and waved to the crowd of onlookers who begin to shout praises and cheer in their honor. Sildar looks at them with a look of confusion.
"You didn't tell me you killed Orcs? I love killing Orcs....no offence," he said and quickly gestured and apology to Mazekk.
"None taken," chuffed Mazekk. "We didn't kill no Orcs, Knight. Don't know what he's talking about," Mazekk grunted.
"A pity," Aethulian sniffed. Mazekk growled.
"Without much further ado, or gilding the lily, I give you the Seekers of Serenity, the Defenders of the Weak and Impoverished, the Slayers of the Wicked - your Champions of Phandalin!" the Bard said, voice rising to a booming crescendo.

The square erupted into madness and mayhem. The cheering and clapping shook the foundations of the town and sounded as if hundreds of thousands of voices cried out in once. The villagers jumped in a torrent of ecstasy and jubilation as they celebrated. Hands were slapped on backs, tears were shed, and humble offerings of food and ale were placed at the feet of the bewildered adventurers. It was a wild celebration for some time and then the petitioners began to come forward.
"Please Sers, the Orcs are ravaging the countryside...you must vanquish them."
"Strange things are in Thundertree. Witches and hags I swears it. You alone can banish them back to there dark dwellings."
"Bandits on the road-"
"Bugbears pillaging my crops-"
"My brother-in-law is a mean man and he-"
"Vermin has plagued out stores-"
The petitions for aid begin to pour in from the villagers as they all plead for assistance. Meraki looks to the others for assistance and then reaches down to scoop up Nipper, the slender Tabaxi almost trampled by the swarm.
"This is...problematic." Aethulian says to Sildar, the Knight nodding in agreement.
"Come inside," he says and motions towards the Inn. "We can figure out what to do...and say hello to your new friend." Sildar said and pointed with a finger and the Bard who was bowing and blossoming under the praise of the crowd. Sildar begins to cut a way through the crowd and the group follows close behind, nodding and smiling at the well-wishers as they go. Approaching the steps to the Inn, Sildar waves to the crowd with a wide smile once more and then looks sternly at the Bard.
"You are coming with us," he says. The Bard's face pales and he tips his head slight to the group.
"Surely I can handle the crowds while my Lords engage in business-" he begins.
"Get in the Inn, singer - or I'll drag you in myself," Mazekk retorts. The Bard gulps and he nods nervously, scuttling into the open door. The closes closes behind you and the cheering fades to a dull roar. As the door thuds close Sildar whirls on the Bard, blade singing as he twirls the steel edge and stops a hair's breadth from the Bard's exposed neck.
"Who are you?" he demands. The Bard shrieks and withers. He falls to his knees and raises his hands in an attempt at self defense.
"Please my lord! I am but a humble bard," he pleads. "I merely seek an opportunity to better myself in such a noble company".
"Who are you?" Sildar yells. He looks to Toblen who is standing awkwardly behind the bar. "Get a mop and bucket Innkeeper, I suspect we need to clean up a mess quite soon". The bard cries out and whimpers, collapsing deeper into the floor.
"Please Ser!" he stammers.
"Name!"
"Tennen! My name is Tennen Maldernen. I'm from Baldur's Gate," he cries.
"Why are you so interested in my friends Tennen Maldernen from Baldur's Gate?"
"I don't know...I don't even know them. I just heard about them and figured it was a way to make a name for myself! I'm just hungry is all. Please don't kill me." he says, voice rising to a shrill shriek as Sildar presses the blade closer to his neck. A trickle of blood runs down his skin. Sildar frowns and looks back to the group. He shrugs.
"So you're not a bard?" Nipper asks.
"No I am - well I was...it's complicated. Are you going to kill me? If so can I please eat something first. I haven't eaten in days." Meraki steps forward and pushes Sildar's blade away with his trunk.
"So we're a meal ticket for you?" he asks. Tennen looks up nervously and wipes a hand over his neck, grimacing at the sight of the blood.
"In a way I guess. I heard some of the villagers ranting about you and the Innkeeper had just tossed me out," he says.
"You were trying to steal food!" Toblen stammers.
"I was hungry!" Tennen spits back. Sildar's blade is suddenly back at his neck.
"Careful - that is our host you are talking to," Sildar chides. Tennen winces and raises his hands in surrender.
"Sorry, sorry. So what about it then...some food for a dead man?"Sildar considers for a moment and looks to back to the group who stare back at him, equally as confused. He shrugs and then sheaths his sword and motions for the man to stand up.
"Seeing that these Brave Companions are so kind, I believe we can provide you some food. And...you can keep your life," he says. Tennen sighs, relaxing visibly and stands up.
"Thank you mi lords. I promise I'll be out of your britches as soon as I'm fed. You'll never hear from me again," Tennen says quickly, bowing excessively. Sildar lets out a deep laugh and puts and arm around the man.
"Oh my friend, you will be going nowhere. Let me ask you, have you ever heard of the roles and responsibilities of the humble squire?" Tennen pales.
"Before you deal with our newest....umm...employee. We have to talk. It's about Iarno," Yarrik says. Sildar's face darkens and he nods to the group.
"Agreed, first business. And then..." he says with a wry grin to Tennen. "Laundry."