The Plastered Pony was alive with magic and merriment. Lanterns glowed from every rafter, banners fluttered with the sigils of every hero, and the scent of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread mingled with the laughter of old friends. Brewtus Pintsmasher, barrel-chested and beaming, presided over the festivities, his fists resting lightly on the counter (just in case) but his heart wide open to the joy of reunion.
Tipple the Half Pint was everywhere at once: strumming his lute atop a barrel, leading a chorus of “The Ballad of the Bottomless Keg,” and sneaking extra treats to the Ryecanthrope pups, who had become his dear friends. Their father (who was nervous about seeing Intoxica again), now sported a festive bowtie and a look of proud exhaustion, watched as his pups darted between tables, collecting crumbs and belly rubs from every hero in attendance.
Merlo the Saucerer conjured sparkling illusions above the crowd, while Sherry the dragon familiar curled around a pile of tankards, keeping a watchful eye on the snacks. Intoxica the Necromixer arrived fashionably late, her cloak swirling with magical energy.
Keggar the Barbeerian and Chief Kegg led a raucous beer-pong tournament, Maltilda the Stout Hearted presided over the arm-wrestling table, and Sir Drankalot rode his barrel-steed Bubbles through the tavern, narrowly missing a tray of pies and declaring, “For honor and ale!” Flaskian the Concealed appeared and disappeared at will, leaving behind mysterious party favors and a trail of missing socks.
Brewtus raised his goblet high. “Heroes of Barcadia! To old victories, new mischief, and the bonds that endure!” The crowd roared in agreement, mugs clinking, stories flowing as freely as the ale.
Just as Tipple began the chorus of a new song, the tavern doors burst open with a thunderous crash. A chill swept through the room, and every candle flickered. There, framed in the doorway, stood the Grand Drink Guardian, cloak swirling, eyes gleaming, and a host of monstrous minions at their back.
“Did you really think you could celebrate without me?” the Guardian boomed, voice echoing off the stone walls. “Barcadia’s drinks belong to me now. Surrender your kegs, your goblets, your spirits… or face the consequences!”
For a heartbeat, the tavern was silent. Then Brewtus slammed his fist on the bar, rattling every bottle. “Not in my house, you don’t! Heroes, you know what to do!”
Tipple leapt from his barrel, lute in hand. “For Barcadia!” Merlo’s spells crackled, Intoxica’s potions fizzed, Keggar hefted his battle-axe, Maltilda raised her healing flask, Sir Drankalot twirled Foamblade, and Flaskian vanished into the shadows, already plotting a counterattack.
The Ryecanthrope pups, sensing the shift, scampered to their father’s side. He scooped them up, tucking them safely behind the bar with a wink from Brewtus. “Guard the snacks, little ones,” Tipple called, and the pups saluted with their tiny paws, determined to defend every crumb.
The heroes surged forward, laughter and battle cries mingling as they rushed to meet the Grand Drink Guardian head-on. The Plastered Pony rang with the sounds of heroism, mischief, and the promise of another legendary tale.
And as the doors swung shut behind them, the Ryecanthrope pups peeked out from their hiding spot, tails wagging, ready to cheer their heroes on. Brewtus’s voice echoed through the night:
“Tonight, we fight for every drop, and for every friend who raises a glass!”
Now, dear reader, it’s your turn to finish the story. Play a game of Heroes of Barcadia and let us know the ending.